THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF 
A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNI 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


■^-Jfu 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2008  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/foundationsofnatOOjone 


THE    FOUNDATIONS    OF   A 
NATIONAL   DRAMA 


»> 


.Mfiirij.    (rllutr   jcuc.) 

./'vi'Di    tlxf  /•(;.(/  Ill  iX<-l-ri-t    ' ...    in  ken 


THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF 
A    NATIONAL    DRAMA 

A  COLLECTION  OF  LECTURES,  ESSATS 
AND  SPEECHES,  DELIVERED  AND 
IVRITTEN  IN  THE  TEARS  1896-19 12 
{REHSED     AND     CORRECTED,    fflTH   ADDITIONS) 


BY 

HENRY   ARTHUR  JONES 


"  Receive  the  truth,  and  let  it  be  your  balm  " 

Keats 


NEW    YORK 

GEORGE    H.    DORAN    COMPANY 

LONDON 

CHAPMAN   &    HALL,    Ltd. 


CONTENTS 


PAGB 

Preface vii 

I.    The  Foundations  of  a  National  Drama   .       .       .       i 

A  Lecture  delivered  at  the  Royal  Institution,  March  i8th,  1904 

II.    The  Corner  Stones  of  Modern  Drama     ...      20 

A  Lecture  delivered  to  Harvard  University,  October  31st,  1906 

III.  Literature  and  the  Modern  Drama  ....     44 

A  Lecture  delivered  to  Yale  University,  November  5th,  1906 

IV.  The  Aims  and  Duties  of  a  National  Theatre        .     69 

A    Lecture    delivered    to   Columbia    University,    New    York, 
January  26th,  igii 

V.    A  Note  on  the  American  National  Theatre  .       .     88 

September,  1912 

VI.    A  Speech  at  the  Debate  of  the  Oxford  Union 

ON  the  Establishment  of  a  National  Theatre      go 

June  2nd,  1910 

VII.    The  Recognition  of  the  Drama  by  the  State        .     98 

The  Nineteenth  Centtiry  Review,  March,  1904 

VIII.    The  English  National  Theatre 121 

August,  1912 

IX.    The  Drama  and  Real  Life 139 

A  Lecture  delivered  at  Toynbee  Hall,  November  13th,  1897 

X.    Standardizing  the  Drama 160 

A  Lecture  delivered  to  the  O.  P.  Club,  February  6th,  1910 

XI.    The  Delineation  of  Character  in  Drama       .       .    180 

A  Lecture  delivered  to  the  Ethological  Society,  May  4th,  1910 
xvii 


PREFACE 

November,  191 2. 

Huxley  tells  us  that  at  the  outset  of  his  career  he 
asked  himself  what  was  the  best  thing  he  could  wish 
for  himself  in  life :  and  that  after  much  pondering  he 
could  think  of  no  gift  so  desirable  to  beg  from  fortune 
as  the  courage  always  to  speak  the  truth  upon  any 
matter  of  public  concern,  with  perfect  fearlessness  and 
sincerity,  taking  no  heed  of  personal  consequences. 
The  record  of  that  great  clear  thinker  and  writer  shows 
that  the  fairies  granted  him  his  request.  Indeed  what 
better  thing  could  any  man  ask  for  himself  at  the 
beginning  of  life ;  or  wish  to  hold  fast  through  the 
struggles  and  confusions  of  his  midway  years ;  or  find 
a  greater  satisfaction  and  pride  in  cherishing  as  his 
dearest  possession  at  the  close  ? 

I  may  claim  that  a  desire  to  know  and  to  speak  the 
exact  truth  about  the  matters  dealt  with  in  the  following 
papers  has  been  the  only  motive  that  has  urged  me, 
often  against  my  interests  and  inclinations,  to  write 
them.  My  one  wish  has  been  to  gain  for  myself  and 
to  spread  amongst  playgoers  a  knowledge  of  those 
facts  and  conditions  and  rules  which  will  help  to  develop 
an  intellectual  drama  in  England,  and  to  make  our  theatre 
an  object  of  national  pride  and  esteem,  the  admiration 
instead  of  the  contempt  of  Europe.  And  I  could  be  well 
content  to  learn  that  the  knowledge  of  those  facts  and 
conditions  and  rules  has  so  far  advanced  into  practice  on 
our  actual  stage,  that  already  these  essays  and  lectures 
have  become  obsolete  and  needless. 

But  have  we  reached  such  a  goal  ?  We  may  be  on 
the  road  to  it,  and  one  sees  many  encouraging  signs 

vii 


/ 


viii  PREFACE 

that  our  faces  are  set  in  the  right  direction.  But  are 
we  yet  within  measurable  distance  of  it?  Of  the  many 
interesting  and  deservedly  successful  plays  produced  in 
the  last  few  years,  how  many  of  them  will  be  heard  or 
spoken  of  in  ten  years'  time?  How  many  of  them  will 
bear  examination  in  the  study  ?  Will  one  of  them  take 
a  permanent  place  in  English  literature? 

But  without  a  national  repertory  of  new  plays  there 
can  be  no  measure  of  present  attainment,  no  compass  to 
show  our  path,  no  certainty  of  advance,  but  only  more 
or  less  aimless  drifting. 

It  will  doubtless  be  thought  that  I  have  given  far 
too  much  regard  and  praise  to  French  acting  and  French 
authorship.  Much  of  the  esteem  in  which  the  French 
theatre  and  the  French  drama  have  been  held  amongst 
us  has  perhaps  been  reflected  from  French  opinion 
and  French  esteem.  We  think  highly  of  their  drama, 
because  they  think  highly  of  it  themselves.  We  largely 
accept  them  at  their  own  valuation.  But  how  quicken- 
ing and  how  fostering  to  the  French  drama  and  French 
acting  has  been  the  high  regard  in  which  they  have 
always  been  held  by  the  literary  and  cultivated  classes. 
Compare  the  interest  in  their  national  drama  and  the 
knowledge  of  it,  shown  by  French  statesmen,  men  of 
letters,  artists  and  scientists,  with  the  interest  in  and 
knowledge  of  the  English  drama  shown  by  the  same 
classes  in  our  own  country. 

It  is  true  that  to-day  we  have  not  so  much  to  learn 
from  French  authors  and  actors,  or  so  much  occasion  to 
envy  them,  as  we  had  a  generation  ago.  And  it  is  likely 
that  as  we  develop  a  national  drama  of  our  own,  we  shall 
have  less  and  less  need  to  look  to  France  for  models. 

But  even  to-day  I  think  my  estimate  of  the  French 
drama  and  French  acting  must  be  allowed  to  remain 
as  a  fair  one.  We  may  get  a  true  idea  of  how  we 
stand  in  comparison  with  France,  if  we  read  the 
recently  published  two  volumes  of  criticism,  Le  Thedtre 
d'  aujoiircChui,  by  M.  Benoist.     Suppose  that  an  English 


PREFACE  ix 

or  American  critic  of  equal  literary  and  dramatic  attain- 
ments with  M.  Benoist,  had  to  review  the  English  and 
American  drama  of  the  last  fifteen  or  twenty  years,  and 
suppose  that  he  selected  an  equal  number  of  authors 
and  plays  of  the  best  repute  during  that  period,  could 
he  find  a  knot  of  dramatists  and  a  body  of  dramatic 
material  at  all  comparable  with  those  chosen  for 
judgment  by  M.  Benoist  ?  To  ask  the  question  is  to 
answer  it.  But  if  with  pardonable  national  pride  and 
confidence  we  say  that  we  have  such  a  body  of  dramatic 
material,  are  we  not  then  driven  to  ask  ourselves  how 
it  is  that  only  at  rare  intervals  does  one  of  our  melo- 
dramas or  farces  get  a  cheap  fugitive  success  with 
Parisian  audiences ;  while  when  we  offer  them  one  of 
our  recent  masterpieces  we  meet  with  a  polite  but 
chilling  rebuff,  which  should  make  us  question  the 
validity  of  our  judgments.  Surely  the  useful  entente 
cordiale  has  given  Frenchmen  some  excuse  for  admiring 
our  modern  drama,  or  at  least  of  saying  that  they  admire 
it.  But  they  have  not  changed  their  standards,  and  have 
largely  thrown  upon  ourselves  the  duty  of  praising  our 
recent  masterpieces. 

Whereas  almost  every  play  that  obtains  a  moderate 
success  in  Paris  is  seen  at  one  of  our  West  End 
theatres,  and  with  all  its  characters  and  morals  and 
manners  grotesquely  denationalized,  obtains  perhaps  a 
greater  success  in  London  than  it  has  done  in  Paris. 

Again,  there  is  a  fairly  large  demand  amongst 
English  readers  for  French  published  plays  and  for 
English  translations  of  them ;  while  the  students  of  the 
modern  English  drama  in  France  could  probably 
be  counted  on  one's  fingers.  And  further,  if  we  ask 
what  are  the  qualities  which  mainly  distinguish  the 
best  modern  French  drama  from  the  best  modern 
English  drama,  we  may  set  them  down,  apart  from 
the  crowning  grace  of  literary  expression,  as  sanity, 
universality,  urbanity ;  freedom  from  oddity,  perversity, 
queerness ;  freedom  from  assertive  self-consciousness ; 


X  PREFACE 

freedom  from  childish  freakishness  and  sentimentality  ; 
a  clearer,  wider,  and  more  humane  outlook  upon  life ;  a 
larger  and  less  confused  handling  of  the  questions  of  the 
hour  ;  a  surer  grip  of  permanent  passions  and  emotions, 
and  an  easier,  more  genial,  less  clumsy  treatment  of 
human  foibles  and  follies.  We  may  perhaps  claim  that 
the  English  drama  has  greater  naturalness  and  more 
humour. 

Again,  it  has  always  been  an  incidental  function 
of  serious  French  drama  to  preserve  the  purity  and 
distinction  of  the  French  language,  to  stay  it  from 
becoming  slipshod  and  slangy.  And  it  has  always  been 
an  incidental  function  of  the  French  theatre  to  preserve 
a  clear  and  articulate  diction,  to  set  a  high  standard 
of  correct  enunciation.  At  a  recent  gathering  Sara 
Bernhardt  was  the  only  speaker  in  English  who  could 
be  distinctly  heard  at  the  back  of  a  small  hall.  Every 
syllable  got  home. 

It  could  scarcely  be  asked  without  transparent  irony 
how  far  the  modern  English  drama  has  been  a  means  of 
preserving  the  vigour  and  purity  of  the  English  language, 
and  how  far  the  English  theatre  has  been  a  means  of 
setting  a  standard  of  just  accent  and  clear  diction. 

I  will  ask  those  who  frequent  the  pits  in  our  London 
theatres  whether  their  attention  is  not  so  constantly 
strained  to  hear  what  the  actor  is  saying  that  the 
author's  meaning  is  blanketed  or  lost. 

These  reasons  will  I  hope  suffice  to  clear  me  from  the 
charge  of  having  unduly  praised  modern  French  drama 
and  modern  French  acting  at  the  expense  of  our  own. 

I  have  found  great  difficulty  in  arranging  the  various 
papers.  A  chronological  sequence  would  have  divided 
the  different  subjects.  But  these  frequently  overlap 
each  other,  and  are  sometimes  interwoven  in  a  single 
paper.  The  attempt  at  a  division  into  subject-matter 
has  therefore  resulted  in  some  rupture  of  the  main  lines 
of  argument ;  and  some  want  of  order  in  the  presentation 
of  facts,  and  of  the  conclusions  to  be  drawn  from  them. 


PREFACE  xi 

The  volume  will  be  found  to  contain  a  ceaseless 
repetition  of  a  few  certain  leading  rules  and  principles 
and  convictions.  But  it  has  only  been  by  constant  and 
tiresome  assertion  and  reiteration  during  thirty  years 
that  these  rules  and  principles  are  beginning  to  win 
acceptance  as  the  foundations  of  a  national  drama.  And 
it  is  only  by  continued  insistence  upon  them  that  a  larger 
public  will  unconsciously  absorb  them  as  the  guides  of 
their  tastes  and  habits  in  the  theatre. 

Some  apparent  inconsistencies  will,  I  think,  yield  to 
reconciliation  when  it  is  remembered  that  the  subject- 
matter  is  complex,  and  presents  many  different  aspects, 
some  of  them  constantly  shifting.  Other  inconsistencies 
and  contradictions  will  be  found  in  minor  and  de- 
batable matters.  In  these  it  is  often  wiser  to  keep  a 
loose  and  easy  mind  than  to  cling  obstinately  to  a  set 
opinion. 

But  on  all  the  large  and  commanding  issues,  the 
issues  that  will  assuredly  mould  the  character  and  govern 
the  development  of  the  English  drama  in  the  succeeding 
generation,  there  will  be  found  no  want  of  clearness  or 
decision,  nor  any  contradiction  or  inconsistency. 

One  of  the  most  important  of  these  issues  is  the 
relations  between  the  English  drama  and  the  English 
theatre.  These  are  glanced  at  and  outlined  in  many 
passages  of  the  following  papers,  but  are  not  treated 
fully  and  succinctly.  And  I  fear  these  passages  may 
leave  the  impression  that  I  have  been  jealous  and 
envious  of  the  great  sister  art  to  the  drama ;  that  I 
have  been  one-sided  in  my  views,  and  ungenerous  in 
my  treatment  of  it.  When  I  have  leisure  I  hope  to  deal 
with  the  matter  more  exhaustively,  and  to  remove  that 
impression  if  I  have  created  it.  Meantime  I  plead  that 
some  watchful  jealousy  may  be  forgiven  to  an  artist  if 
it  is  roused  on  behalf  of  his  craft,  and  is  not  merely  the 
expression  of  personal  spite  and  disappointment. 

I  have  said  that  the  issue  is  a  most  important  one. 
In  England   the  drama  and   the   theatre  are  generally 


Xll 


PREFACE 


supposed  by  the  public  to  be  one  identical  corporate 
institution.  Irving  was  oddly  enough  regarded,  and 
always  spoken  of,  as  the  head  and  representative  of  the 
British  drama.    Consider  what  this  implies. 

The  drama  and  the  theatre  are  always  collusive  and 
allied  ;  they  are  never  identical ;  they  are  scarcely  ever 
equal ;  they  are  sometimes  antagonistic,  and  are  often 
obstructive  of  each  other's  highest  efforts.  What  is  the 
meaning  of  the  very  significant  fact  that  in  a  great 
creative  dramatic  era  (that  of  Shakespeare)  acting 
naturally  becomes  auxiliary,  and  is  comparatively  un- 
important ;  while  in  eras  of  great  and  distinguished 
acting  (those  of  Garrick,  Kean,  and  Macready),  the 
current  drama  is  regarded  as  auxiliary  and  as  com- 
paratively unimportant? 

Again,  this  necessary  rivalry  between  the  drama  and 
the  theatre  is  apparent  if  we  glance  at  the  English 
stage  during  the  last  ten  years;  and  if  we  ask,  not 
where  the  most  successful  plays  have  been  produced, 
but  where  the  alivest  and  most  penetrating  work  has 
been  done  for  the  drama.  The  most  successful  plays 
have,  of  course,  been  produced  at  the  most  popular 
theatres  by  the  most  popular  managers.  That  is  natural 
and  inevitable.  But  has  not  the  most  thoughtful  and 
interesting  drama  been  produced  almost  entirely  outside 
our  popular  actor-managements;  by  private  societies 
and  small  repertory  companies ;  by  those  who  are 
concerned  with  the  advance  of  the  English  drama 
rather  than  with  the  success  of  the  English  theatre? 

I  will  leave  it  there  for  the  time,  merely  pointing  out 
that  in  constantly  urging,  as  I  have  done,  that  actors, 
and  especially  those  who  have  to  speak  verse,  should 
submit  to  long  and  severe  training,  I  am  merely  saying 
that  acting  is  a  great  and  difficult  art,  and  I  am  paying 
it  a  respect  which  is  often  in  practice  denied  to  it  by 
actors  themselves. 

Of  perhaps  equal  importance  are  the  relations  of  our 
drama  to  musical  comedy.    Here  again  I  shall  doubtless 


PREFACE  xiii 

be  accused  of  sourness,  narrowness,  jealousy,  and  self- 
interest.  With  regard  to  self-interest  I  am  not  so 
unworldly  and  short-sighted  as  to  be  incapable  of  per- 
ceiving that  nothing  could  be  more  damaging  to  one's 
immediate  popularity  and  reputation  than  to  challenge 
the  favourite  pastimes  and  amusements  of  the  public; 
and  to  irritate  the  powerful  interests  who  are  con- 
cerned in  providing  them.  I  am  aware  that  no  action 
could  be  more  injudicious,  or  more  unwelcome,  or 
seem  more  ungracious.  And  I  would  willingly  have 
stilled  my  ineffectual  murmurs,  if  any  commanding 
voice  had  been  raised  in  place  of  mine. 

I  think  I  have  shown,  both  by  my  speech  and  action 
in  the  questions  of  the  music  halls  and  the  Censorship, 
that  I  have  a  warm  sympathy  with  the  claim  that  all 
those  who  provide  amusement  for  the  people  should 
have  perfect  freedom  to  give  the  public  what  it  desires ; 
and  that  the  public  should  also  have  perfect  freedom 
to  obtain  what  it  desires  without  the  present  senseless 
restrictions.  But  the  very  granting  of  this  freedom 
gives  a  right,  almost  imposes  a  duty  of  criticism  and 
guidance  on  the  part  of  those  whose  constant  occupation 
necessarily  gives  them  the  widest  and  most  intimate 
knowledge  and  experience  of  these  matters. 

So  anxious  am  I  to  avoid  any  personal  strife  and  to 
secure  a  few  peaceful  years  for  work,  that  in  preparing 
these  papers  for  publication  I  have  been  frequently 
minded  to  withdraw  all  those  passages  which  reflect 
upon  the  popularity  of  musical  comedy.  Let  me  again 
disclaim  any  innate  aversion  from  a  form  of  art  which 
has  offered  to  theatre-goers  much  that  is  charming  and 
graceful  and  pleasing  to  the  senses ;  which  has  given  to 
the  drama  many  admirable  performers,  amongst  them 
such  great  actresses  as  Ethel  Irving  and  Marie  Tempest : 
which  attained  such  a  charming  literary  and  musical 
distinction  in  the  hands  of  Gilbert  and  Sullivan  ;  and 
which  offers  such  great  opportunities  for  the  display  of 
satire,  wit,  fantasy,  and  romance.     So   far  as   regards 


xiv  PREFACE 

certain  forms  of  it,  I  have  said  nothing  more  severe 
of  them  than  I  have  heard  more  than  once  from  the 
lips  of  Gilbert  himself.  If  my  strictures  have  had  any 
influence  upon  public  taste,  which  is  very  doubtful,  they 
may  be  held  to  be  justified.  If,  as  is  more  likely,  they 
have  had  no  other  effect  than  to  stamp  me  as  a  churlish 
kill-joy  eager  to  damp  the  gaiety  of  the  nation,  then  the 
defenders  of  musical  comedy  may  be  so  well  content 
with  that  result  as  to  leave  it  undisturbed. 

Perhaps  one  day  it  will  be  seen  that  the  matter  is 
involved  with  deeper  and  more  serious  considerations, 
and  it  will  be  approached  from  a  different  aspect,  and  on 
a  larger  and  wider  plane.     It  will  then  be  asked  what 
was  the  favourite  and  characteristic  type  of  theatrical 
amusement  during  the  ten  or  fifteen  critical  years  when 
the  nation  should  have  been  gathering  itself  to  meet  an 
anxious  destiny;  the  type  that  most  surely  and  easily 
indicated   the    temper   and  habits  of  the  people,  their 
average  mental  capacity,  their  stock  of  moral  and  intel- 
lectual   force;    the    type   that   was   most   secure   from 
criticism;  the  type  that  was  most  widely  encouraged 
and  flattered  by  all  classes  from  the  lowest  to  the  very 
highest  in  the  land  ?    What  kind  and  level  of  general 
education  did  the  overwhelming  prevalence  of  such  a 
type  imply,  and  what  commentary  does  it  force  us  to 
make  upon  the  results  of  popular  education  ?     How  far 
did  its  ascendency  during  that  period  necessarily  obstruct 
the  growth  of  a  national   drama  on  any  higher  level? 
Harmless  perhaps  in  itself,  and  scarcely  worthy  of  con- 
sideration or  even  of  disapproval,  how  far  did  its  easy 
universal  acceptance  denote  a  widely-spread  reluctance 
to  think  clearly  and  rationally  upon  any  of  the  serious 
issues  of  national    or   individual  life;    and   a  growing 
impatience  with  any  one  who  suggests  that  there  are 
such  issues?      If  these  questions  are  ever  asked  shall  I 
be  condemned  for  challenging  the  overwhelming  popu- 
larity of  musical  comedy  during  the  last  fifteen  years? 
Then  I  will  rest  condemned. 


PREFACE  XV 

I  would  have  withdrawn  from  these  pages  every 
allusion  to  the  matter,  but  for  these  two  reasons  : — 

(i)  There  is  no  surer  evidence  as  to  the  character 
and  fibre  of  a  people  than  is  afforded  by  the 
nature  and  quality  of  their  popular  amusements, 
and  especially  of  their  drama. 

(2)  It  is  impossible  to  have  two  opposing  national 
standards  of  taste  in  the  drama. 

We  have  amongst  us  a  movement  for  building  a 
National  Memorial  Theatre  to  Shakespeare,  and  the 
public  is  asked  to  subscribe  a  large  amount  for  the 
purpose.  Before  going  any  further,  let  us  inquire  what 
must  be  the  prevailing  standard  of  national  taste  in  the 
drama  before  such  a  theatre  can  hope  to  be  successful 
on  the  level  which  its  name  implies.  While  the  main 
currents  of  public  taste  are  running  strongly  in  other 
and  contrary  directions,  such  a  theatre  can  be  no  more 
than  at  the  worst  a  grotesque  failure,  at  the  best  a 
second-rate  futility,  perhaps  of  less  artistic  or  dramatic 
account  than  some  of  our  present  well-managed  theatres. 
I  say  this  as  one  of  the  staunchest  and  earliest  sup- 
porters of  the  scheme ;  and  because  I  wish  to  see  it 
permanently  established  in  the  future  on  the  sure 
foundation  of  a  national  comprehension  and  esteem, 
rather  than  struggling  amongst  devious  and  contrary 
opinions  and  ideals  and  petty  personal  interests,  to 
some  imperfect  realization  in  the  present,  with  the 
certainty  of  a  speedy  and  humiliating  collapse. 

And  such  a  collapse  is  almost  unavoidable  in  the 
present  state  of  public  taste.  There  may  be,  there 
should  be,  wide  varieties  and  forms  of  theatrical  enter- 
tainment; but  there  cannot  be  two  main  opposing 
standards  of  national  taste.  Just  as  surely  as  any 
considerable  supply  of  counterfeit  coinage  drives  all 
the  gold  out  of  circulation,  so  surely  does  a  base  and 
counterfeit  currency  in  any  art  drive  out  all  the  higher 
and  finer  things  that  are  trying  to  contend  with  it.  You 
cannot  have  two  standards. 


THE    FOUNDATIONS    OF  A 
NATIONAL     DRAMA 


I 


THE   FOUNDATIONS   OF   A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

A  lecture  delivered  at  the  Royal  Institution,  Albemarle  Street,  on 
Friday  evening,  March  i8th,  1904.  Chairman,  Sir  William 
Crookes,  F.R.S. 

I  AM  to  lecture  you  for  an  hour  this  evening,  and  I  learn 
that  it  is  not  advisable  to  overstep  that  limit.  As  we 
have  much  ground  to  cover  in  the  time,  I  hope  you  will 
forgive  me  for  coming  to  the  heart  of  the  matter  at 
once. 

I  would  like,  firstly,  to  convince  you  that  it  is  a 
matter  of  some  national  importance  to  have  a  modern 
English  drama.  Then  I  will  try  to  show  you  that  we 
have  scarcely  anything  that  is  worthy  to  be  called  by 
that  name.  Then  I  will  try  to  indicate  how  we  must 
set  to  work  to  get  one,  what  are  the  foundations  on 
which  a  national  drama  must  be  built. 

A  few  months  ago  I  read  in  one  of  our  great  leading 
dailies  these  words  :  "The  English  nation  has  made  up 
its  mind  not  to  take  its  drama  seriously."  That  is 
exactly  the  same  as  saying :  "  The  English  nation  has 
made  up  its  mind  that  it  won't  have  any  drama  at  all." 

It  would,  I  suppose,  be  generally  agreed  in  any 
gathering  of  educated  persons  that  the   measure  of  a 

I  B 


2    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

people's  advance  in  the  fine  arts  is  the  measure  of  their 
distance  from  the  brutes  ;  that  in  reality  art  is  not  merely 
aaxiliary  to  civilization,  but  may  almost  be  said  to  be 
civilization  itself.  "  Life  without  art  is,"  as  Ruskin 
says,  "  mere  brutality."  Even  religion  itself  is  apt  to 
become  a  crude  and  ghoulish  superstition  the  moment 
it  is  separated  from  art.  I  need  not  affirm  the  value  and 
importance  of  the  fine  arts  generally,  or  show  how  little 
dignity,  or  beauty,  or  refinement,  or  even  humanity  can 
belong  to  the  nation  that  rejects  them.  In  England  to- 
day the  arts  of  painting,  music,  sculpture  and  archi- 
tecture get  a  very  scanty  and  grudging  recognition  from 
government.  The  English  drama  gets  no  recognition 
whatever.  Now  I  do  not  wish  to  put  the  English  drama 
into  competition  or  comparison  with  the  other  arts,  or 
to  claim  for  it  any  pre-eminence  over  them.  In  any 
cultivated  and  well-organized  society  all  the  arts  should 
have  their  due  and  separate  spheres  of  influence,  and  all 
should  meet  with  equal  marks  of  national  recognition 
and  esteem. 

But  I  hope  you  will  justify  me  in  saying  that  no 
other  art  is  so  intimately  and  vitally  concerned  with 
our  daily  national  life  as  the  drama.  No  other  art  so 
nearly  touches  and  shapes  conduct  and  practice.  No 
other  art  can  so  swiftly  move  our  thoughts  and  feelings, 
or  stir  our  passions,  or  inspire  and  direct  our  actions. 
In  sheer  momentum,  in  vitality  of  impulse,  in  present 
and  penetrating  power  and  persuasion,  all  the  other 
arts  are  dead  and  imaginary  things,  "  as  idle  as  a  painted 
ship  upon  a  painted  ocean,"  compared  with  the  drama. 
And  this  is  the  art  of  which  a  leading  English  paper  can 
say  to-day  in  a  most  matter-of-fact  tone,  "  The  English 
nation  has  made  up  its  mind  not  to  take  its  drama 
seriously,"  as  if  it  didn't  matter  whether  we  had  a 
drama  or  not. 

Let  anyone  who  loves  his  country  and  has  an  after- 
noon to  spare  make  a  circular  railway  journey  and  visit 
the  suburbs  of  London,  and  ponder  them   well.     Let 


FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA     3 

him  reflect  upon  the  staple  and  mould  of  our  present 
English  civilization,  upon  the  type  of  Englishman 
that  we  are  breeding  by  millions.  In  ever-increasing 
numbers,  and  in  ever-increasing  proportions,  our 
countrymen  and  women  are  living  dull,  ugly,  mono- 
tonous, sedentary  lives,  packed  together  in  little,  dull, 
ugly,  square,  drab,  brick  boxes ;  or  in  sections  of  large, 
dull,  ugly,  square,  drab,  brick  boxes  ;  denying  them- 
selves access  to  pure  air,  and  to  most  of  the  primary 
conditions  of  healthy,  dignified  human  existence.  Is  it 
any  wonder  that  a  nation  bred  and  housed  under  the 
conditions  of  English  town-life  to-day,  nearly  went 
down  before  a  handful  of  farmers  ?  Will  it  be  any 
great  wonder  if  we  do  go  down  in  the  next  European 
tussle  ? 

You  are  thinking  I  ought  not  to  have  said  that ;  you 
are  thinking  it  is  quite  wide  of  the  subject  of  my  lecture. 
No,  believe  me,  it  is  the  very  essence  of  my  subject. 
These  things  are  all  of  a  piece  ;  all  the  strands  and 
fibres  of  our  national  life  are  tensely  connected  with 
each  other,  and  are  interdependent. 

The  careless  disorganization  and  confusion  of  thought 
that  reigns  in  our  drama  is  all  of  a  piece  with  the  care- 
less disorganization  and  confusion  of  thought  that  reign 
in  other  and  more  important  matters ;  in  our  national 
religion ;  in  our  national  defences ;  in  our  national 
industries.  It  is  all  due  to  the  same  causes ;  to  our 
want  of  alertness  ;  our  want  of  drill ;  our  want  of  wit ; 
our  resolute  national  hypocrisy;  our  national  insensi- 
bility to  ideas;  our  national  hatred  of  ideals. 

Perhaps  during  the  last  few  moments  you  have  paid 
that  imaginary  visit  to  the  suburbs  of  London  and  our 
large  towns.  Now  if  we  are  content  with  the  type  of 
civilization  that  threatens  to  prevail  there,  if  we  are 
content  that  when  an  Englishman  names  the  na  me  of 
England,  he  shall  conjure  up  for  us  vista  upon  vista  of 
meaner  and  yet  meaner  Clapham  Junctions,  and  drabby- 
yellow  monotonous  railway  suburbs  spread  everywhere 


4    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

over  our  native  land  ;  if  that  is  our  national  ideal,  there  is 
clearly  nothing  further  to  be  said,  except  that  we  seem 
to  be  in  a  very  fair  way  to  realize  it. 

But  if  we  are  discontented  with  such  a  prospect,  if 
we  wish  to  inflame  these  millions  and  millions  of  city 
dwellers  with  enthusiasm  for  great  national  ideals ;  if 
we  wish  to  persuade  them  to  care  for  the  things  that 
are  more  excellent,  for  the  things  of  the  intellect  and 
the  spirit ;  if  we  wish  to  sweeten  their  manners,  to 
refine  their  tastes,  to  create  a  daily  beauty  instead 
of  a  daily  ugliness  in  their  lives,  what  instrument 
could  be  so  swiftly  and  surely  operative  to  these  ends 
as  a  wisely-conceived,  wisely-regulated  and  wisely- 
encouraged  national  drama  ? 

At  the  present  moment  we  seem  to  be  urged  and 
beckoned  on  every  hand  to  overhaul  and  reorganize 
our  national  resources,  to  set  every  room  of  our  house 
in  order.  There  is  a  general  instinct  of  alarm  and  un- 
easiness, and  whatever  may  be  the  result  of  the  present 
search  into  the  causes  and  conditions  of  our  national 
prosperity,  it  will  not  be  without  some  effect  in  every 
sphere  of  English  thought  and  action.  Now,  in  what- 
ever spheres  it  may  be  decided  to  abandon  the  doctrine 
and  policy  of  laisscz-fairc,  I  hope  the  English  drama 
may  put  in  a  claim  to  be  rescued  from  its  present  state 
of  national  neglect  and  national  contempt.  In  that  re- 
organization of  our  national  means  and  resources ;  in 
that  refixing  of  our  national  aims  and  goals  towards 
which  we  seem  to  be  summoned,  not  merely  by  the 
warnings  of  statesmen  and  the  shrill  cries  of  contend- 
ing politicians,  but  by  those  threatening,  hovering  por- 
tents— those  pillars  of  cloud  and  fire  that  daily  and 
nightly  guide  our  nation  to  its  destiny — in  that  awaken- 
ing of  new  national  hopes  and  ambitions  and  ideals,  I 
hope  I  may  put  in  a  very  urgent  claim  that  the  drama 
shall  be  recognized  as  a  great  civilizing  and  humanizing 
force,  a  great  potential  influence  in  our  community,  a 
great  potential  educator. 


FOUNDATIONS   OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA    5 

I  use  the  word  "educator"  with  much  reluctance, 
knowing  well  that  I  shall  be  misunderstood  and  mis- 
represented by  all  those  whose  business  and  interest  it 
is  to  keep  the  drama  on  its  present  level.  But  in  the 
widest  and  truest  sense  I  claim  that  in  a  closely-packed 
democracy  such  as  ours,  the  drama  is  and  must  be  an 
increasingly-powerful  teacher,  either  of  bad  manners 
or  of  good  manners,  of  bad  literature  or  of  good  litera- 
ture, of  bad  habits  or  of  good  habits.  Potentially,  it  is 
the  cheapest,  the  easiest,  the  most  winning,  the  most 
powerful  teacher  of  that  great  science  which  it  so  much 
concerns  every  one  of  us  to  know  through  and  through, 
I  mean  the  science  of  wise  living.  In  that  supreme 
science,  the  drama  is  or  should  be  a  supreme  teacher, 
a  supreme  educator. 

At  the  present  moment  the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury and  certain  eminent  Nonconformist  divines  are 
engaged  in  a  lively  controversy  upon  the  recent  Edu- 
cation Bill.  Please  be  reassured.  I  am  not  about  to 
break  a  lance  on  either  side  of  that  fight.  Though  I 
hope  that  like  Peter  in  the  New  Testament,  and  like 
his  namesake  in  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  I  shall  ever  be 
ready  to  draw  my  weapon  in  a  good  cause.  But 
frankly,  I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  the 
matters  upon  which  our  spiritual  fathers  are  passively 
resisting  each  other  with  so  much  vigour.  There  is  a 
quarrel.  It  is  as  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger  says,  "a  very 
pretty  quarrel  as  it  stands,"  and  one  would  be  loth  to 
destroy  its  symmetry  by  any  unkind  interference.  I 
believe  there  is  a  genuine  desire  on  each  side  to  come 
to  an  agreement  in  this  matter  of  education.  May  I 
very  humbly  point  out  to  the  Archbishop,  and  to  my 
Nonconformist  friends  a  way  out  of  their  perpetual  mis- 
understandings and  difficulties,  a  platform  upon  which 
they  can  shake  hands  and  bury  their  present  unfor- 
tunate dissensions  ?  May  I  humbly  suggest  they  should 
forget  their  differences  upon  the  minor  matters  that 
so  constantly   embroil    them,   and  join   in   a   practical 


6    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

scheme  for  advancing  the  education  of  the  masses  in 
the  widest  sense;  I  mean  in  the  establishment  of  a 
national  drama  that  shall  faithfully  reflect  and  inter- 
pret to  the  English  people  the  best  realities  and  possi- 
bilities of  their  daily  life.  I  assure  you  there  is  no  shade 
of  bitterness  or  irony  in  the  suggestion  I  have  thrown 
out  to  our  spiritual  fathers. 

You  are  thinking  perhaps  that  I  have  exaggerated 
the  importance  of  the  question  I  have  raised.  You  are 
thinking  that  I  have  magnified  it  out  of  all  proportion. 

Consider  again  for  a  moment  the  millions  of  our 
citizens  living  sedentary,  monotonous  lives  in  their 
little,  square,  drab,  brick  boxes.  The  great  majority  of 
them  have  toiled  during  the  day  at  desks,  at  looms, 
in  shops,  and  warehouses,  and  offices,  at  some  mere 
routine  task,  which  instead  of  quickening  the  powers 
of  their  minds  has  rather  clogged  and  deadened  them. 
Now  the  dreary  routine  of  the  day  is  over,  and  these 
millions  have  gone  forth  to  search  for  relaxation  and 
amusement.  I  will  ask  you  to  enlarge  the  spaces  of 
imagery  in  your  minds  until  they  contain  seating 
capacity  for  hundreds  of  thousands,  perhaps  millions. 
Try  to  conceive  all  the  vast  audiences  of  our  country- 
men at  this  moment  assembled  in  all  the  theatres 
and  music  halls  of  this  kingdom.  Summon  them 
all  before  you.  Multiply  row  after  row,  tier  above 
tier,  crowd  upon  crowd,  at  this  moment  listening, 
watching,  laughing,  weeping,  hushed,  applauding ; 
here,  catching  a  moment  of  responsive  rapture  from 
some  heroic  sentiment;  there,  grinning  and  chuckling 
at  some  half-veiled  indecency ;  here,  tasting  the  fine 
flavour  of  a  choice  Shakespearean  passage ;  there, 
working  themselves  into  a  frenzy  of  vicarious  valour 
by  the  cheapest  jingo  bluster;  here,  melting  and  sob- 
bing over  some  scene  of  domestic  pathos;  there,  roll- 
ing and  roaring  over  some  piece  of  stale  buffoonery; 
here,  mystified  and  awed  by  the  tricks  of  the 
scene-shifter;   there,   startled  and  impressed   by  some 


FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA    7 

search-light  flash  into  the  human  heart ;  here,  peeping 
and  leering  at  a  ballet  girl's  skirts ;  there,  watching 
some  vivid  sketch  of  character;  here,  being  stupefied, 
imbruted,  coarsened  and  vulgarized  ;  there,  being 
charmed,  exhilarated,  humanized,  vitalized. 

Again  for  a  moment  survey  these  myriads  of  amuse- 
ment-seekers;  catch  the  echoes  of  their  "innumerable 
laughter";  the  whirlwinds  of  their  applause;  put  your 
finger  on  these  millions  of  beating  pulses.  Consider  how 
enormous,  how  far-reaching,  how  operative,  not  only 
upon  manners,  but  indirectly  upon  conduct  and  character, 
must  be  the  effect  upon  them  of  what  occupies  their 
evening  hours  of  leisure.  For  the  great  majority  of 
them  ;the  hours  of  the  day  are  dull  and  lifeless  with 
mechanical,  uninspiring  labour  —  it  is  only  in  these 
two  or  three  evening  hours  that  nine-tenths  of  our 
population  can  be  said  to  live  at  all.  Surely  it  is  a 
matter  of  supreme  importance  in  our  national  economy 
whether  our  nation  has  a  drama  or  not;  whether 
it  is  fostered,  organized  and  honoured;  or  whether  it 
is  neglected,  disorganized  and  despised.  Surely  it  is 
a  national  disgrace  when  it  can  be  calmly  said  of  us : 
"The  English  nation  has  made  up  its  mind  not  to 
take  its  drama  seriously." 

For  myself,  outside  the  great  permanent  concerns 
of  government — the  defence  of  the  country  ;  the  guard- 
ing of  the  national  finances ;  the  enforcement  of  law — 
outside  a  few  such  great  matters,  I  cannot  see  what 
question  has  more  intrinsic  importance,  or  could  so 
fittingly  engage  the  attention  of  our  legislators  as  the 
one  I  have  brought  before  you  to-night. 

I  will  beg  leave  then  to  affirm  on  behalf  of  these 
myriads  of  amusement-seekers  that  it  is  desirable  to 
have  a  national  English  drama ;  wisely  regulated,  wisely 
encouraged,  thoroughly  organized,  suitably  housed, 
recognized  and  honoured  as  one  of  the  fine  arts. 

If  I  have  convinced  you  on  this  point  we  can  pass  on 
to  the  second  division  of  my  subject.    Perhaps  it  will  be 


8     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

advisable  to  inquire  what  a  national  drama  is  or  should 
be,  what  it  should  do  for  the  people. 

Clearly  the  first  function  of  drama  is  to  represent  life 
and  character  by  means  of  a  story  in  action;  its  second 
and  immeasurably  higher  function  is  to  interpret  life  by 
the  same  means.  But  the  first  and  fundamental  purpose 
of  the  drama  is  to  represent  life. 

If  this  sounds  like  a  very  cheap  and  obvious  plati- 
tude, I  will  ask  how  many  plays  at  the  present  moment 
on  the  London  stage  are  representing  life,  or  even  pre- 
tending to  do  it?  How  many  theatre-goers  trouble  to 
ask  themselves  whether  they  are  seeing  a  picture  of 
life  ?  How  many  theatre-goers  judge  the  play  and  the 
dramatist  by  that  simple  test?  I  will  ask  further,  "Do 
nine  out  often  of  the  present  generation  of  theatre- 
goers look  upon  the  theatre  as  anything  but  a  funny 
place  where  funny  people  do  funny  things,  intermixed 
with  songs  and  dances?  And  where  they  are  to  be 
amused  on  the  lowest  intellectual  level?" 

I  think  if  you  will  carefully  listen  to  the  remarks  and 
judgments  upon  plays  that  come  within  your  earshot 
during  the  next  few  months,  even  from  cultivated  men 
and  women — I  think  you  will  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  English  playgoing  public  have  for  the  most 
part  lost  all  sense  that  the  drama  is  the  art  of  represent- 
ing life,  and  that  there  is  a  keen  and  high  pleasure  to  be 
got  out  of  it  on  that  level. 

By  the  representation  of  life  I  do  not  mean  that  the 
drama  should  copy  the  crude  actualities  of  the  street 
and  the  home.  Very  often  the  highest  truths  of  life  and 
character  cannot  be  brought  into  a  realistic  scheme. 
The  drama  must  always  remain  like  sculpture,  a  highly 
conventional  art ;  and  its  greatest  achievements  will 
always  be  wrought  under  wide,  and  large,  and  astound- 
ing conventions.  Shakespeare's  pla3''s  are  not  untrue  to 
life  because  they  do  not  perpetually  phonograph  the 
actual  conversations  of  actual  persons. 

I  have  not  time  here  to  do  more  than  explain  in  the 


FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA    9 

briefest  way  that  I  am  not  contending  for  a  realistic 
drama.  In  the  past  the  greatest  examples  of  drama 
have  been  set  in  frankly  poetic,  fantastic  and  unrealistic 
schemes.  But  whether  a  play  is  poetic,  realistic,  or 
fantastic,  its  first  purpose  should  be  the  representation 
of  life,  and  the  implicit  enforcement  of  the  great  plain 
simple  truths  of  life.  Realistically,  or  poetically,  or 
fantastically,  it  should  show  you  the  lives  and  character 
of  men  and  women ;  and  it  should  do  this  by  means 
of  a  carefully-chosen,  carefully-planned  and  always 
progressive  story. 

Now  let  us  take  a  glance  at  our  London  theatres  and 
London  audiences  to-day  and  see  what  is  being  done 
there.  The  London  theatres  are  fairly  indicative  of  what 
is  going  on  all  over  the  country. 

Looking  down  the  list  of  the  various  entertainments 
at  some  twenty-five  fashionable  West-End  theatres,  it 
will  be  seen  that  most  of  them  scarcely  pretend  to  be 
pictures  of  life  and  character  at  all. 

Gradually,  during  the  last  ten  years — gradually,  but 
ever  more  boldly  and  more  successfully,  the  greater 
part  of  our  West-End  theatres  have  dissociated  them- 
selves from  any  attempts  to  present  a  picture  of  English 
life,  or  life  of  any  kind ;  and  have  given  an  entertain- 
ment more  and  more  approaching  to  a  series  of  music- 
hall  sketches,  songs,  and  dances,  threaded  together  by 
no  rational,  or  plausible,  or  possible  story.  During  the 
same  ten  years  we  have  seen  the  bankruptcy  of  our 
leading  Shakespearean  theatre,  and  the  dissolution  of 
the  aims  and  ambitions  and  hopes  connected  with  it. 
At  one  or  two  other  theatres  we  have  had  very 
beautiful,  and  one  is  delighted  to  say,  fairly  successful 
Shakespearean  and  poetic  productions.  But  these 
Shakespearean  productions  have  been  mainly  successful 
by  reason  of  their  pictorial  elements ;  scarcely  at  all 
on  account  of  their  acting,  or  of  their  poetry.  The 
West-End  manager,  who  at  great  cost,  with  immense 
pains  and  research,  puts  on  a  play  of  Shakespeare,  takes 


lo    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

his  managerial  life  in  his  hands  every  time  he  does  it 
He  thinks  himself  lucky  if  he  can  run  it  for  a  hundred 
nights  and  get  back  his  expenses;  while  his  neighbour, 
who  puts  up  the  latest  piece  of  musical  tomfoolery  and 
buffoonery,  is  sure  of  the  immense  and  cordial  support 
of  the  English  public ;  is  sure  of  enormous  and  uni- 
versal goodwill ;  is  sure  of  a  prosperous  run  of  many 
hundred  nights. 

Turning  to  the  drama  of  modern  English  life,  we 
meet  with  corresponding  tendencies  and  tastes  on  the 
part  of  the  playgoing  public. 

Here  I  can  only  speak  with  bated  breath  and  with 
some  reserve,  lest  I  should  be  accused  of  making  this  a 
personal  question. 

First  let  me  gratefully  acknowledge  the  immense 
favours  I  have  received  at  the  hands  of  the  English 
playgoers.  Next  let  me  disclaim  that  I  speak  with  any 
sense  of  present  soreness  or  disappointment.  It  is  by 
the  continued  grace  and  favour  of  English  playgoers,  it 
is  by  virtue  of  the  rewards  and  recognition  they  have 
bestowed  upon  me  that  I  am  able  to  stand  here  and 
speak  to  them  quite  frankly  and  fearlessly  on  this 
matter.  And  I  pay  you  and  English  playgoers  the 
compliment  of  thinking  that  you  would  wish  me  to 
speak  just  what  I  feel. 

Freeing  myself  then  from  the  charge  of  any  personal 
soreness  and  disappointment,  I  will  say  that  I  think  we 
may  all,  playgoers,  actors,  critics,  authors,  feel  great 
disappointment  and  very  great  apprehension  on  account 
of  the  present  prospects  of  the  modern  English  drama. 

Ten  years  ago,  in  the  years  1893  and  1894,  we  seemed 
to  be  advancing  towards  a  serious  drama  of  English 
life ;  we  began  to  gather  round  us  a  public  who  came 
to  the  theatre  prepared  to  judge  a  modern  play  by 
a  higher  standard  than  the  number  of  jokes,  tricks, 
antics,  and  songs  it  contained.  To-day  the  English 
dramatist,  who  comes  before  his  countrymen  with  a 
play  in  which  he  attempts  to  paint  their  daily  life  for 


FOUNDATIONS  OF   A  NATIONAL  DRAMA    ii 

them  in  a  serious  straightforward  way,  finds  that  he  is 
not  generally  judged  upon  this  ground  at  all ;  he  is  not 
generally  judged  and  rewarded  according  to  his  ability 
to  paint  life  and  character  ;  he  is  generally  judged 
according  to  his  ability  to  amuse  the  audience  without 
troubling  them  to  think.  And  I  believe  that  this  ten- 
dency on  the  part  of  the  English  playgoers  to  demand 
mere  tit-bits  of  amusement,  and  to  reject  all  study  of  life 
and  character  in  the  theatre,  I  believe  these  tendencies 
and  tastes  have  largely  increased  during  the  past  ten 
years,  and  are  still  increasing.  Insomuch  we  may  say 
that  the  legitimate  purpose  of  the  drama,  which  is  to 
paint  life  and  character  in  a  story;  and  the  legitimate 
pleasure  to  be  gained  from  the  drama,  the  keen 
and  intellectual  delight  in  watching  a  faithful  re- 
presentation of  life  and  character  and  passion — this 
legitimate  purpose  and  this  legitimate  pleasure  of  play- 
writing  and  playgoing  are  to-day  swallowed  up  and  lost 
sight  of  in  the  demand  for  more  thoughtless  entertain- 
ment, whose  one  purpose  is  not  to  show  the  people 
their  lives,  but  to  provide  them  with  a  means  of  escape 
from  their  lives.  That  is  to  say,  the  purpose  of  the 
entertainments  provided  in  our  most  successful  theatres 
is  indeed  the  very  opposite  to  the  legitimate  purpose  of 
the  drama,  the  very  negation  and  suffocation  of  any 
serious  or  thoughtful  drama  whatever. 

I  do  not  say  that  one  or  two  of  us  may  not  get  an 
occasional  success  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  nights  with  a 
comedy,  or  even  with  a  play  of  serious  interest,  if  by  a 
miraculous  chance  one  can  get  it  suitably  played.  But 
any  play  of  great  serious  interest,  such  as  would  meet 
with  instant  and  great  recognition  and  reward  in  France 
or  Germany,  is  most  likely  to  be  condemned  and  cen- 
sured by  the  mass  of  English  playgoers  as  "  un- 
pleasant." 

I  am  aware  that  it  is  useless  to  condemn  a  man  for 
not  paying  to  be  bored  or  disgusted.  But  the  fact  that 
he  is  bored  and  disgusted  raises  the  further  questions  : 


12    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

"Why  is  he  bored  and  disgusted?"     "What  are  the 
things  that  bore  and  disgust  him  ?  " 

I  question  whether  any  subject  has  recently  gathered 
around  it  such  a  thick  fungus  of  cant  and  ignorance  as 
that  of  the  "  problem  play."  For  a  number  of  years  past 
the  parrot-phrase  "problem  play"  has  been  applied  to 
almost  every  play  that  attempts  to  paint  sincerely  any 
great  passion,  any  great  reality  of  human  life.  No 
doubt  great  extravagances  and  absurdities  were  com- 
mitted by  the  swarm  of  foolish  forcible-feeble  play- 
wrights who  tried  to  imitate  Ibsen.  But  the  stream  of 
just  contempt  that  was  poured  upon  these  absurdities 
has  run  over  its  bounds,  and  has  almost  swamped  all 
sincere  and  serious  play-writing  in  England. 

I  was  talking  to  a  comfortable  English  matron  some 
little  time  back.  "  Oh,  I  hope  we  shan't  have  any  more 
of  those  dreadful  problem  plays  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
like  a  nice  pretty  love  story,  where  everything  ends 
happily."  I  could  not  help  inquiring:  "My  dear  Mrs. 
So-and-so,  have  you  ever  read  your  Bible?"  A  day  or 
two  after  that,  I  met  a  middle-aged  man  in  a  club,  a 
member  of  one  of  our  oldest  families.  "  I  don't  like 
these  problem  plays,"  he  said ;  "  I  like  legs  ! "  Now  these 
were  representative  playgoers,  and  they  resented  that 
the  theatre  should  be  used  for  its  legitimate  purpose  of 
representing  life.  And  so  far  as  one  can  judge,  this 
feeling  has  been  largely  spreading  amongst  play- 
goers during  late  years,  and  is  still  gaining  ground, 
until  we  are  forced  to  own  that  the  large  journal 
was  very  near  the  mark  in  saying :  "  The  English 
nation  has  made  up  its  mind  not  to  take  its  drama 
seriously  !" 

Now  I  am  not  here  to  decry  popular  entertainment. 
English  town  life  being  what  it  is,  the  present  con- 
dition of  our  theatres  is  doubtless  the  inevitable  result. 
Granted  the  millions  of  dwellers  in  their  little,  dull, 
ugly,  drab,  brick  boxes,  what  kind  of  recreation  will 
they  naturally  seek?    And  we  may  cordially  recognize 


FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA     13 

that  nearly  all  our  theatres  are  well  conducted  and  are 
comfortable  and  clean  and  sanitary.  There  is  scarcely 
a  suburban  theatre  in  London  that  in  its  interior 
arrangements  does  not  put  to  shame  the  leading  Paris 
theatres.  And  further  we  may  cordially  recognize  that 
if  most  of  the  entertainments  might  more  fittingly  be 
described  as  "tomfoolery"  than  as  "drama,"  yet  a  good 
deal  of  it  is  very  excellent  tomfoolery,  very  clever  tom- 
foolery, and  for  the  most  part  quite  harmless  tomfoolery. 
Some  of  it  is  indeed  very  ignoble  tomfoolery,  and  one 
can  frequently  detect  little  witless  and  smirking  in- 
decencies, and  allusions  of  a  kind  that  one  would  expect 
to  overhear  on  Margate  pier  on  a  bank  holiday.  And 
these  little  sniggering  indecencies  and  ribaldries  seem 
to  me  far  more  degrading,  far  more  poisonous  to  mor- 
ality than  the  broadest,  frankest  Rabelaisian  mirth  ;  or 
than  that  bold  and  fearless  handling  of  the  darker 
side  of  human  nature  which  is  so  loudly  reviled  in 
realistic  plays. 

But  on  the  whole  it  may  be  very  cordially  recognized 
that  granted  it  is  the  chief  business  of  the  English 
theatre  to  supply  the  English  public  with  bright  and 
clever  tomfoolery,  then  we  may  own  that  the  English 
theatres  are  doing  their  duty.  I  say  there  is  a  very 
considerable  alloy  of  very  ignoble  stuff,  and  a  great  deal 
of  funny  business  which  strikes  one  as  very  dreary  and 
mirthless.  In  middle-class  drawing-rooms  we  catch 
glimpses  of  a  "  funny  "  man,  but  even  from  those  abodes 
the  "  funny"  man  is  being  expelled.  I  have  never  been 
able  to  understand  why  a  "funny"  man  is  less  of  a 
nuisance  on  the  stage  than  he  would  be  in  a  drawing- 
room.  Let  us  hope  that  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when 
the  "  funny  "  man  will  be  esteemed  as  great  a  nuisance 
in  the  theatre  as  he  is  in  ordinary  life.  But  many  of 
the  artists  who  appear  in  these  musical  pieces  have  an 
alertness  and  vivacity,  a  way  of  sending  their  lines  home, 
a  power  of  keeping  their  audiences  awake,  which  one 
rarely  finds  amongst  our  ordinary  actors.     And  this  is 


14    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

doubtless  one  of  the  causes  of  the  comparative  neglect 
of  our  spoken  drama. 

Meantime  let  me  again  disclaim  any  feeling  of  anger 
or  jealousy  against  popular  entertainment  in  itself  It 
is  one  of  the  first  necessities  for  the  dreary  dwellers  in 
the  little  dull,  square,  ugly,  drab,  brick  boxes  that  they 
should  be  amused.  But  the  point  I  wish  to  make  is 
this — Popular  entertainment  is  not  the  art  of  the  drama  ; 
it  provides  an  entirely  different  and  lower  pleasure 
from  that  given  by  the  drama.  Yet  the  drama  is  hope- 
lessly confused  in  the  public  mind  with  popular  amuse- 
ment, and  has  to  compete  with  popular  amusement  by 
sinking  its  own  legitimate  aims  and  ambitions.  The 
drama  which  is  the  art  of  representing  life  is  not 
judged  from  that  standpoint  at  all ;  it  lives  a  fitful  hand- 
to-mouth  existence,  according  as  it  happens  to  provide 
popular  entertainment ;  and  it  is  judged  and  rewarded 
almost  entirely  on  that  level. 

Suppose  that  the  English  nation  suddenly  lost  its 
passion  for  musical  comedy,  and  developed  a  passion  for 
the  game  of  skittles.  And  suppose  the  rage  for  skittles 
became  so  great  that  all  our  fashionable  West-End 
theatres  were  turned  into  skittle  alleys.  Suppose  the 
confusion  of  ideas  on  the  subject  of  skittles  and  the 
drama  was  as  great  as  that  which  now  exists  on  the 
subject  of  musical  comedy  and  the  drama.  A  lover  of 
the  drama  might  have  no  objection  to  skittles,  might 
indeed  be  a  lover  of  skittles ;  but  if  the  drama  were 
threatened  with  extinction  on  account  of  the  rage  for 
skittles,  he  would  surely  be  right  to  urge,  "  There  is 
nothing  criminal  in  your  love  for  skittles,  but  it  is  not 
the  drama.  In  your  rage  to  spend  an  empty  evening 
and  amuse  yourself,  you  are  killing  a  fine  art." 

Isn't  a  game  at  skittles  physically  and  mentally  a 
more  invigorating  entertainment  than  many  of  the 
entertainments  of  our  West-End  theatre?  Yet  if  a 
rage  of  skittles  should  set  in,  the  lover  of  the  drama 
might   surely  be   allowed  to  point   out   the   difference 


FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA    15 

between  the  drama  and  the  skittles,  and  gently  to 
urge  that  it  is  not  wise,  it  is  not  good  national  economy 
to  riot  in  skittles  at  the  expense  of  killing  a  fine  national 
art.  Now  if  we  look  round  and  watch  what  is  taking 
place  in  many  of  our  fashionable  West-End  theatres,  I 
think  we  must  allow  that  the  rage  for  empty  amuse- 
ments threatens  gradually  to  destroy  what  is  still 
loitering  or  what  is  nascent  of  dramatic  art  in  England. 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  an  alarmist,  but  no  one  can  take 
up  a  daily  paper  and  study  the  underclock  announce- 
ments without  allowing  that  lovers  of  the  drama  have 
the  gravest  cause  for  apprehension. 

It  is  not  all  the  fault  of  the  public.  Let  us  look  at 
home.  Doubtless  some  of  the  fault  must  rest  upon  the 
dramatists.  Why  don't  we  turn  out  a  succession  of 
masterpieces  ?  In  reply  to  this  I  have  to  urge  a  fact 
that  is  scarcely  suspected  by  either  playgoers  or  critics 
— yet  it  is  a  fact  that  governs  the  whole  art  or  business 
of  playwriting.  A  dramatic  author  is  mainly  con- 
ditioned in  his  choice  and  treatment  of  subjects  and 
themes,  by  the  possibility  of  getting  them  adequately 
played  and  adequately  stage-managed  at  a  theatre  of 
repute.  When  a  play  is  wrongly  or  inadequately  repre- 
sented, it  is  always  the  author  who  is  held  responsible. 
Now  it  is  useless  to  blame  actors  or  managers  for  the 
state  of  things  which,  if  it  has  not  entirely  killed  serious 
dramatic  art  in  England,  has  completely  paralysed  it. 
The  fault  is  in  our  present  system.  It  is  almost  hope- 
less under  our  present  system  to  write  plays  of  great 
passion  or  serious  intellectual  import.  In  the  region 
of  mere  drawing-room  comedy,  in  the  reproduction  of 
certain  little  aspects  of  daily  life,  we  have  attained  a 
high  degree  of  perfection.  We  have  a  number  of  actors 
and  actresses  who  can  faithfully  copy  the  behaviour  of 
average  persons  in  ordinary  moments  and  situations, 
and  the  small  mannerisms  and  habits  of  their  different 
classes.  We  have  a  few  very  gifted  actors  and  actresses 
who  can  do  more  than  this ;  but  many  of  our  leading 


i6    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

actors  and  actresses  are  wofully  deficient  in  the  tech- 
nique of  their  art ;  some  of  them  are  barely  acquainted 
with  the  rudiments  of  elocution  ;  the  best  of  them  are 
scarcely  on  a  level  in  this  respect  with  the  average 
members  of  a  municipal  theatre  in  France.  So  that 
alike  for  the  adequate  representation  of  Shakespeare 
and  of  our  classical  comedies,  and  for  the  adequate 
representation  of  any  play  of  modern  life  that  tries  to 
deal  in  a  great  way  with  great  emotions,  great  phases 
of  our  present  civilization,  or  great  intellectual  ideas — 
alike  for  these  two  classes  of  play  we  have  no  trained 
body  of  actors  ready  to  interpret  an  author  in  such  a 
way  that  the  public  may  get  at  his  meaning.  Nor  have 
we  a  trained  body  of  playgoers  ready  to  appreciate  and 
respond  to  the  author  and  actors. 

I  have  now  come  to  the  end  of  the  second  division 
of  my  lecture.  I  have  shown  you,  or  tried  to  show 
you,  that  we  have  no  modern  English  drama  worthy 
of  the  name,  worthy  of  a  great  nation. 

If  any  of  you  think  I  have  overstated  my  case,  I 
refer  you  again  to  the  current  advertisements  under 
the  clock.  And  I  pointedly  ask  the  manager  of  every 
provincial  theatre  in  the  Kingdom  whether  he  can  get 
an  audience  for  any  poetical  play,  or  any  serious  play 
of  modern  life,  except  on  the  rare  visit  of  a  London 
manager ;  I  ask  these  provincial  managers  whether 
to-day  there  is  an  audience  in  any  town  in  England 
for  anything  except  a  concoction  of  songs,  dances  and 
jokes,  that  do  not  even  pretend  to  represent  life ;  I 
point  to  the  prosperity  everywhere  of  great  variety 
palaces  that  offer  all  kinds  of  popular  amusement ; 
and  I  point  to  the  board  that  at  the  time  of  writing 
these  words  is  placed  across  the  fagade  of  the  Lyceum 
Theatre,  announcing  "This  theatre  to  be  sold." 

I  have  spent  so  much  time  in  clearing  the  ground 
for  the  foundations  of  a  National  Drama  that  1  have 
left  myself  only  a  few  moments  to  indicate  how  the 
foundations   must   be   laid.     I  will  ask  you  then  to  let 


FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA    17 

me  state  in  the  plainest  and  shortest  way  what  the 
English  nation  must  do  if  it  wishes  to  have  an  English 
drama. 

What  are  the  necessary  foundations  of  a  national 
English  drama? 

Speaking  through  you  to  the  great  body  of  English 
playgoers,  I  would  say  to  them :  If  we  are  to  have  an 
English  drama  at  all  it  is  necessary  : 

1.  To  distinguish  and  separate  our  drama  from 
popular  amusement ;  to  affirm  and  reaffirm  that  popular 
amusement  and  the  art  of  the  drama  are  totally  different 
things ;  and  that  there  is  a  higher  and  greater  pleasure 
to  be  obtained  from  the  drama  than  from  popular 
amusement. 

2.  To  found  a  national  or  repertory  theatre  where 
high  and  severe  literary  and  artistic  standards  may  be 
set;  where  great  traditions  may  be  gradually  estab- 
lished and  maintained  amongst  authors,  actors,  critics 
and  audiences. 

3.  To  insure  so  far  as  possible  that  the  dramatist 
shall  be  recognized  and  rewarded  when  and  in  so  far 
as  he  has  painted  life  and  character ;  and  not  when 
and  in  so  far  as  he  has  merely  tickled  and  bemused  the 
populace. 

4.  To  bring  our  acted  drama  again  into  living  rela- 
tion with  English  literature ;  to  dissolve  the  foolish 
prejudice  and  contempt  that  literature  now  shows  for 
the  acted  drama;  to  win  from  literature  the  avowal 
that  the  drama  is  the  most  live,  the  most  subtle,  the 
most  difficult  form  of  literature ;  to  beg  that  plays  shall 
be  read  and  judged  by  men  of  letters  who  are  also  judges 
of  the  acted  drama.  To  bring  about  a  general  habit  ol 
reading  plays  such  as  prevails  in  France. 

5.  To  inform  our  drama  with  a  broad,  sane,  and 
profound  morality ;  a  morality  that  neither  dreads  nor 
wishes  to  escape  from  the  permanent  facts  of  human 
life,  and  the  permanent  passions  of  men  and  women ; 
a  morality   equally   apart   from    the    morality  that    is 


i8     FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

practised  amongst  wax  dolls,  and  from  the  morality 
that  allows  the  present  sniggering,  veiled  indecencies 
of  popular  farce  and  musical  comedy. 

6.  To  give  our  actors  and  actresses  a  constant  and 
thorough  training  in  widely  varied  characters,  and  in 
the  difficult  and  intricate  technique  of  their  art ;  so  that 
in  place  of  our  present  crowd  of  intelligent  amateurs, 
we  may  have  a  large  body  of  competent  artists  to  inter- 
pret and  vitalize  great  characters  and  great  emotions  in 
such  a  way  as  to  render  them  credible,  and  interesting, 
and  satisfying  to  the  public. 

7.  To  break  down  so  far  as  possible,  and  at  any  rate 
in  some  theatres,  the  present  system  of  long  runs  with 
its  attendant  ill-effects  on  our  performers ;  to  establish 
throughout  the  country  repertory  theatres  and  com- 
panies to  the  end  that  our  actors  may  get  constant 
practice  in  different  parts ;  and  to  the  end  that  the 
author  may  see  his  play  interpreted  by  different  com- 
panies and  in  different  ways. 

8.  To  distinguish  between  the  play  that  has  failed 
because  it  has  been  inadequately  or  unsuitably  inter- 
preted, and  the  play  that  has  failed  on  its  own  demerits ; 
to  distinguish  between  the  play  that  has  failed  because 
of  the  low  aims  or  mistaken  workmanship  of  the  play- 
wright, and  the  play  that  has  failed  because  of  the  low 
tastes  of  the  public,  or  because  of  mistakes  in  casting 
or  production. 

9.  To  bring  the  drama  into  relation  with  the  other 
arts;  to  cut  it  asunder  from  all  flaring  advertisements, 
and  big  capital  letters,  and  from  all  tawdry  and  trumpery 
accessories  ;  to  establish  it  as  a  fine  art. 

You  will  have  noticed  that  some  of  these  proposals 
overlap  and  include  each  other.  Virtually  they  are  all 
contained  in  the  one  pressing  necessity  for  our  drama 
that  it  shall  be  recognized  as  something  distinct  from 
popular  amusement.  And  this  one  pressing  necessity 
can  be  best  and  most  effectually  met  by  fostering  the 
drama  as  a  national  art  in  a  national  theatre.     If  such 


FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA     19 

a  theatre  should  be  established  and  endowed  either 
by  the  government  or  by  a  private  gift,  I  would  very 
gladly  offer  it  a  new  play  without  any  consideration  ot 
fees  whatever. 

I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  have  seemed  to  be 
dictatorial  and  dogmatic  throughout  my  lecture.  I  will 
ask  you  to  accept  my  twenty-five  years'  practice  of  my 
art  as  some  assurance  that  I  do  not  speak  lightly  or 
without  having  very  deeply  considered  the  matter. 

At  the  end  of  last  year  the  London  papers,  almost 
without  exception,  bewailed  the  absence  during  its 
course  of  plays  of  serious  interest  and  aim.  But  how 
can  you  expect  that  great  plays  will  continue  to  be 
written  unless*  there  is  a  fair  presumption  that  they  will 
be  adequately  acted,  and  unless  the  public  is  prepared 
to  judge  them  from  a  different  standpoint  from  that 
of  empty  amusement? 

Will  you  glance  again  for  a  moment  at  the  mass  and 
pattern  of  English  town-life  to-day,  at  the  millions  and 
millions  of  dreary  dwellers  in  the  little,  drab  brick 
boxes  ?  and  will  you  remember  for  a  moment  Milton's 
prophecy  concerning  the  English  nation?  What  in- 
strument could  be  so  powerful  as  a  National  English 
drama  to  raise  our  city  dwellers  to  the  height  of  that 
great  prophecy  ?  It  will,  perhaps,  seem  strange  to  quote 
it  to  you  here,  and  at  a  moment  like  the  present :  "  Me- 
thinks  I  see  in  my  mind  a  noble  and  puissant  nation 
rousing  herself  like  a  strong  man  after  sleep,  and 
shaking  her  invincible  locks ;  as  an  eagle  renewing 
her  mighty  youth,  and  kindling  her  undazzled  eyes  at 
the  full  midday  beam ;  while  the  whole  noise  of 
timorous  and  flocking  birds,  with  those  also  that  love 
the  twilight,  flutter  about,  amazed  at  what  she  means." 

I  leave  the  matter  to  the  "grave  and  solid  judg- 
ment" of  England. 


II 

THE   CORNER  STONES   OF   MODERN    DRAMA 

A  lecture  delivered  to  Harvard  University,  U.S.A.,  on  the  afternoon 
of  Wednesday,  October  31st,  1906.     Chairman,  Dean  Briggs. 

Let  the  first  words  I  speak  be  those  which  shall  most 
frankly  and  heartily  own  my  great  debt  of  gratitude  to 
American  playgoers.  If  to-day  I  am  free  from  pressing, 
sordid  cares,  it  is  largely  due  to  the  continued  favour 
which  your  nation  has  shown  to  my  plays.  For  nearly 
a  quarter  of  a  century  my  work  has  been  seen  in  all 
your  leading  cities,  and  every  year  has  been  a  year  of 
welcome  and  encouragement  on  your  part,  and  every 
year  has  been  a  year  of  renewed  and  increasing  in- 
debtedness on  mine.  Let  me  then  offer  to  you  and 
through  you  to  the  great  body  of  American  playgoers, 
my  most  inadequate,  but  most  deeply  felt,  most  lasting, 
most  sincere  gratitude.  You  have  bestowed  upon  me  a 
crowning  honour  to-day  in  asking  me  to  stand  in  this 
place  and  speak  to  you  about  the  drama. 

A  friend  of  mine  in  England  pardons  himself  any 
lapses  from  general  truthfulness  by  affirming  as  a 
make-weight :    "  But  I  never  tell  lies  about  Art." 

I  believe  that  a  clear  vision  and  a  feeling  for 
rectitude  in  all  the  arts,  would  develop  a  new  sense  of 
national  beauty  and  national  dignity  both  in  America 
and  in  England,  and  would  also  be  a  valuable  lever  to 
both  nations  in  matters  of  conduct  and  character.  I  am 
persuaded  that  this  clear  vision,  this  right-thinking  and 
right-doing  in  the  popular  art  of  the  drama,  would  have 


CORNER  STONES  OF   MODERN   DRAMA      21 

a  wide,  compulsive  influence  on  national  manners  and 
behaviour.  Therefore  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  adopt 
my  friend's  motto  for  these  lectures,  and  to  say,  "  I  never 
tell  lies  about  the  Drama."  I  am  sure  you  would 
wish  me  to  treat  this  subject  with  the  utmost  candour 
and  courage,  to  speak  out  of  the  fulness  of  my  heart. 
And  if  I  tell  you  some  hard  truths,  and  ask  some  harsh, 
rude  questions,  you  must  not  think  that  I  am  exceeding 
the  liberty  and  courtesy  of  a  guest ;  for  the  same  hard 
truths  must  be  told,  and  the  same  rude,  harsh  questions 
must  be  asked  about  the  drama  in  England.  Indeed,  I 
hope  you  will  allow  me  for  the  moment  to  class  England 
and  America  as  twin  nations  in  the  affairs  of  the  drama. 
So  much  interchange  of  plays  and  actors  has  taken 
place  between  the  two  countries ;  the  means  of  com- 
munication have  been  so  constantly  quickened  and  in- 
creased, that  now,  for  many  years  past,  large  currents  of 
the  two  main  streams  of  national  drama  have  filtered 
through  to  each  other,  and  have  commingled,  and  are 
now  flowing  together.  In  the  higher  reaches,  both 
of  the  modern  and  of  the  poetic  drama,  England  and 
America  may  be  largely  reckoned  as  one  country. 
Therefore  I  am  not  speaking  simply  to  and  for  American 
playgoers.  I  still  remain  your  debtor,  and  at  the  outset 
I  must  own  that  if  you  had  a  national  American  drama 
such  as  I  desire  for  you,  such  as  I  see  many  signs  of 
your  compassing  in  generations  to  come — I  say,  if  that 
national  American  drama  were  already  an  accomplished 
fact,  I  fear  you  would  not  so  readily  have  welcomed  my 
plays  for  the  last  twenty-four  years,  and  I  fear  you 
would  not  care  to  listen  to  me  now. 

If  we  throw  one  sweeping  glance  over  the  whole  past 
history  of  the  drama,  we  are  deeply  impressed  by  two 
main,  commanding  features.  The  first  of  these  is  the 
perennial  and  universal  existence  of  the  dramatic  instinct, 
always  and  everywhere  seeking  expression,  always  and 
everywhere  pushing  up  its  shoots  into  the  national  life. 
Often   repressed,   often   debased,   often   childish,   often 


22    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

vulgar,  often  obscene,  often  the  emptiest,  silliest  bauble ; 
formless ;  ribald ;  violent ;  grotesque ;  a  feast  of  inde- 
cencies, or  a  feast  of  horrors,  there  has  yet  rarely  been 
a  time,  or  a  country,  where  some  kind  of  drama  has 
not  been  fitfully  and  precariously  struggling  into 
existence.  That  is  the  first  main  feature  in  the 
world's  dramatic  history.  The  second  main  feature  is 
complementary.  Twice  in  the  past  the  drama  has 
splendidly  emerged,  has  seized,  possessed,  inflamed  and 
interpreted  the  whole  spirit  of  the  nation,  has  become 
a  supreme  artistic  achievement  of  the  age  and  people. 
Twice  it  has  thus  emerged — once  in  Greece,  and  once 
in  Elizabethan  England.  But  a  Frenchman  would  say 
that  three  times,  and  a  Spaniard  would  claim  that  four 
times,  in  the  world's  history  have  there  been  great 
creative  outbursts  of  drama.  Well,  we  who  possess 
Shakespeare  will  generously  allow  that  there  have  been 
four  such  great  creative  outbursts,  which  have  left  stand- 
ing these  towering  mountain  ranges  of  drama  for  us  to 
wonder  at.  France,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  was  the 
scene  of  the  last  of  these  great  creative  outbursts,  and 
the  incomparable  Moliere  was  the  head  and  front  of  its 
glory. 

This  brings  me  to  the  purpose  of  my  lecture,  which 
is,  indeed,  to  ask  this  practical  question,  "  By  what 
means  can  a  worthy  art  of  the  drama  be  fostered  and 
developed  in  America  and  England  to-day?"  I  think 
we  may  best  get  an  answer  to  this  question  by  com- 
paring the  history  and  status  of  the  drama  in  France 
and  in  England  from  the  time  of  Moliere  down  to  the 
twentieth  century — down  to  the  modern  drama  of  the 
day  before  yesterday. 

Here  I  must  beg  time  and  space  for  a  rather  long, 
but  quite  relevant,  parenthesis.  No  glance  at  any  corner 
ot  the  modern  drama  can  leave  out  of  sight  the  ominous 
figure  of  Ibsen.  A  great  destroyer;  a  great  creator;  a 
great  poet;  a  great  liberator;  in  his  later  prose  plays 
he  has  freed  the  European  drama,  not  only  from  the 


CORNER  STONES   OF  MODERN   DRAMA      23 

minor  conventions  of  the  stage,  such  as  the  perfunctory 
aside  ^  and  the  perfunctory  soliloquy,  but  from  the  dead- 
lier bondage  of  sentimentality,  of  one-eyed  optimism, 
and  sham  morality.  As  there  is  no  modern  playwright 
who  understands  his  craft  that  does  not  pay  homage 
to  Ibsen's  technique,  so  there  is  no  serious  modern 
dramatist  who  has  not  been  directly  or  indirectly  in- 
fluenced by  him,  and  whose  path  has  not  been  made 
clearer,  and  straighter,  and  easier  by  Ibsen's  matchless 
veracity,  courage  and  sincerity.  Throughout  these  later 
plays,  again  and  again  he  shows  us  how  far  more 
poignant  and  startling  are  inward  spiritual  situations 
and  the  secret  surprises  and  suspenses  of  the  soul, 
than  outward  physical  situations  and  the  traps  and 
surprises  of  mechanical  ingenuity. 

Like  all  great  artists,  he  is  greatest,  not  where  he 
is  most  realistic,  but  where  he  is  most  imaginative.  It 
is  true  he  does  not  reach  through  the  middle  zones  of 
cloud  and  tempest :  he  does  not  attain  those  sunny 
heights  of  wisdom  and  serenity  where  Sophocles  and 
Shakespeare  and  Goethe  sit  radiantly  enthroned,  watch- 
ing all  the  turbid  stream  of  human  life  as  it  flows  a 
thousand  leagues  beneath  their  feet.  Ibsen  for  the  most 
part  looms  darkly  through  a  blizzard,  in  a  wilderness 
made  still  more  bleak  and  desolate  by  the  gray  lava 
streams  of  corrosive  irony  that  have  poured  from  his 
crater.  Yet  by  this  very  fact  he  becomes  all  the  more 
representative  of  his  age,  and  of  the  present  cast  and 

1  In  discarding  the  "aside"  in  modern  drama  we  have  thrown  away 
a  most  valuable  and,  at  times,  a  most  necessary  convention.  Let  any 
one  glance  at  the  "asides"  of  Sir  John  Brute  in  The  Provoked  Wife, 
and  he  will  see  what  a  splendid  instrument  of  rich  comedy  the  "  aside  " 
may  become.  How  are  we  as  spectators  to  know  what  one  character  on 
the  stage  thinks  of  the  situation  and  of  the  other  characters,  unless  he 
tells  us;  or  unless  he  conveys  it  by  facial  play  and  gestures  which  are  the 
equivalent  of  an  "aside"?  The  "aside"  is  therefore  as  legitimate  a 
convention  of  drama  as  the  removal  of  the  fourth  wall.  More  and  more 
the  English  modern  drama  seems  to  be  sacrificing  everything  to  the  mean 
ambition  of  presenting  an  exact  photograph  of  real  Hfe  (^October  1912), 


24    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

drift  of  European  thought  and  philosophy.  His  genera- 
tion has  heard  and  received  his  insistent  new  gospel, 
"  Live  your  own  life !  "  But  human  hearts  will  always 
long  for  that  strain  of  higher  mood  which  we  seem  to 
remember,  "Whosoever  shall  seek  to  save  his  life  shall 
lose  it ;  whosoever  shall  lose  his  life  shall  preserve  it." 

Ibsen  is  a  citizen  of  a  small  country;  this  gives  him 
many  signal  advantages,  and  some  monstrous  disad- 
vantages. If  his  eyes  avert  their  ken  from  half  of  human 
life,  yet  his  vision  is  the  more  keen  and  strenuous  for 
the  half  that  lies  before  them.  If  he  is  a  sour  and 
shabby  courtier  to  beauty,  he  is  never  a  traitor  to  truth. 
He  will  never  be  surpassed  in  his  angry  scorn  for  lies. 
He  has  great  fascination,  but  little  charm.  Joyous 
youth  will  never  hobnob  with  him.  For  happy  lovers, 
he  grows  no  sweet  forget-me-nots.  The  poor  in  spirit, 
he  crushes.  They  who  have  rooted  themselves  at  ease 
in  the  rank  soil  of  modern  commercialism,  shudder  at 
him,  as  a  weed  at  the  ploughshare,  as  a  cancer  at  the 
knife.  For  two-thirds  of  human  kind,  he  has  only  a 
command  of  self-contempt,  and  a  sentence  of  despair 
and  destruction.  But  the  strong,  he  fortifies  :  the  stead- 
fast, he  establishes :  he  is  a  scourge  to  slaves,  but  for 
them  that  are  free,  he  enlarges  the  bounds  of  freedom. 
They  honour  him  who  honour  the  truth,  and  they 
welcome  him  who  welcome  the  growl  of  the  thunder 
and  the  dart  of  the  lightning  rather  than  stagnancy  and 
miasma  and  the  fitful  shimmer  that  dances  round  cor- 
ruption. A  test  of  Ibsen's  quality  is  supplied  by  the 
characters  of  the  men  who  have  most  hated  and  vilified 
him.  Some  tribute  may  perhaps  be  offered,  belated, 
but  I  hope  not  too  late,  by  those  whom  his  tense  and 
shattering  genius  has  at  length  conquered,  and  brought 
to  own  with  great  regret  that  they  have  in  part  mis- 
judged, in  part  under-estimated  him.  He  will  long 
stand  forth,  a  frowning  landmark  in  the  domain  of  the 
drama. 

But,  at  present,  Ibsen,  by  his  circumstances,  by  hi? 


CORNER  STONES  OF  MOD^ERN  DRAMA  25 

character,  by  the  nature  of  his  genius,  by  the  language 
he  wrote  in,  abides  a  solitary  figure ;  and,  though  he  has 
alarmed  and  shifted  the  whole  modern  drama,  he  stands 
mainly  apart  from  it.  And  that  we  may  get  an  answer  to 
my  primary  question,  "  How  can  we  foster  and  develop 
a  worthy  art  of  the  drama  in  America  and  England 
to-day?"  I  must  take  you  back  to  a  comparison  of  the 
history  of  the  drama  in  England  and  France,  during  the 
last  two  hundred  and  fifty  years. 

Let  us  look  at  England  first.  Immediately  after 
Moliere  we  have  Dryden,  and  the  brilliant  and  corrupt 
Restoration  Comedy,  largely  drawing  its  inspiration 
from  France  and  Moliere.  But  our  leading  Restoration 
dramatists  had  not  the  immense  advantage  of  Moliere's 
practical  acquaintance  with  the  theatre ;  and  their  plays, 
compared  with  Moliere's,  are  badly  and  loosely  con- 
structed. Further,  there  is  a  profound,  instinctive,  all- 
pervasive  morality  in  Moliere.  Moliere's  morality  is 
sure,  intrinsic,  inevitable ;  like  Dante's,  like  Nature's 
morality.  Our  English  Restoration  Comedy  is  arid, 
heartless,  degrading;  essentially  mischievous,  corrupt 
and  depraved.  Our  love  for  Charles  Lamb  must  not 
for  a  moment  tempt  us  to  accept  his  ingenious  and 
audacious  excuse  for  Restoration  Comedy.  We  will 
not  withdraw  our  censure  from  these  Restoration  heroes 
and  heroines  on  the  curious  plea  that  they  are  fairy 
rakes  and  harlots  living  in  fairy  lands  of  cuckoldry ; 
in  spite  of  Charles  Lamb  we  will,  if  you  please, 
very  heartily  and  wholesomely  condemn  them,  and 
feel  all  the  better  and  more  self-righteous  for  having 
done  it. 

Our  Restoration  Comedy,  then,  has  vanished!  from 
our  stage,  because  of  its  bad  construction  and  loose 
morality ;  more,  I  fear,  because  of  its  bad  construction 
than  of  its  loose  morality.  But  though  the  Restoration 
Comedy  no  longer  holds  our  stage,  the  splendour  of  its 
wit,  and  the  vividness  of  its  portraiture  of  town  life 
ensure  it  a  lasting  place  in  English  literature. 


26    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

Since  the  Restoration  Comedy,  what  place  has  the 
English  drama  held  in  English  literature? 

I  was  dining  the  other  night  with  a  book-collecting 
friend.  He  brought  out  first  editions  of  "The  Rivals," 
"  The  School  for  Scandal,"  and  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer." 
"There!"  he  exclaimed,  "that's  all  the  harvest  of  your 
English  drama  for  the  last  two  hundred  years."  Those 
three  little  volumes  were  all  that  a  wealthy  collector 
thought  worthy  to  secure  of  the  dramatic  art  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race  in  the  past  two  hundred  years — that 
Anglo-Saxon  race  which  during  that  same  two  hundred 
years  has  held  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom  in  litera- 
ture, in  science,  and  in  arms ;  which  once  held  the 
sovereignty  of  the  world  in  drama;  a  race  of  restless 
and  inexhaustible  achievement  in  almost  every  field;  a 
race  of  action,  and  therefore  essentially  a  dramatic  race ; 
a  race  whose  artistic  instincts  would  irresistibly  find 
their  natural  and  triumphant  outlet  on  the  stage.  And 
in  two  hundred  years  all  that  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  has 
produced  of  drama  worthy  to  be  preserved  as  literature 
is  contained  in  those  three  tiny  volumes.  Why  have 
we  made  such  a  beggarly  mess  of  our  drama? 

Now  if  we  turn  from  England  to  France,  and  survey 
the  French  theatre  and  the  French  drama,  we  shall  find 
that  there  has  been  an  almost  continuous  stream  of 
great  writers  for  the  stage  from  Moliere  onwards  to  the 
present  time.  In  the  seventeenth  century,  Moliere 
stands  not  only  at  the  head  of  the  French  drama,  but 
also  at  the  head  of  French  literature;  holding  the  same 
relative  place  as  did  Shakespeare  in  England  half  a 
century  earlier.  If  France  were  asked,  "Who  of  your 
sons  since  Molit^re  dare  claim  the  garland  of  eternal  and 
universal  renown  ?  Who  in  your  later  days  is  fit  to 
stand  in  the  circle  of  Homer,  Virgil,  Dante,  Shakespeare, 
Milton,  and  Goethe?" — if  France  were  asked  that  ques- 
tion, I  suppose  she  could  send  in  the  names  of  two 
candidates  only — Voltaire  and  Victor  Hugo.  But  these, 
her  two  most  famous  men  of  letters  in  the  eighteenth 


CORNER  STONES  OF  MODERN   DRAMA     27 

and  in  the  nineteenth  centuries,  were  also  her  leading 
playwrights.  As  Moliere  in  his  century  headed  both 
literature  and  drama,  so  do  Voltaire  and  Victor  Hugo 
in  theirs.  But  what  a  crowd  of  illustrious  companions 
swarm  round  these  great  men.  Look  down  the  long 
list  of  them — Regnard,  Marivaux,  Beaumarchais,  Dumas, 
Alfred  de  Musset,  Casmir  Delavigne,  Dumas  fils,  Augier, 
Labiche,  not  to  mention  half-a-dozen  living  writers  who 
are  yearly  throwing  out  powerful  dramas  dealing  faith- 
fully, sincerely,  and  searchingly  with  the  vital  characters, 
scenes,  and  issues  of  our  modern  social  life.  Take  the 
long  list  of  French  writers  of  the  first  rank,  and  you 
will  scarcely  find  one  who  has  not  been  more  or  less 
successful  on  the  stage.  The  French  theatre  has  not 
been  merely  in  constant  touch  with  French  literature ; 
the  French  theatre  and  French  literature  have  been 
wedded  to  each  other  for  the  last  two  hundred  years, 
bone  of  one  bone  and  flesh  of  one  flesh.  Every  play  by 
a  leading  French  playwright  is  not  only  eagerly  dis- 
cussed and  judged  in  the  theatre;  it  is  immediately 
published  and  eagerly  discussed  and  judged  as  literature. 
A  year  or  two  ago,  I  remember  taking  up  at  a  little 
wayside  French  bookstall  a  copy  of  the  two  hundred 
and  eightieth  thousand  of  Cyrano  de  Bergerac. 

Further,  during  those  two  centuries,  there  has  been 
a  constant  method  of  training  actors  and  actresses. 
Acting  is  known  to  be  a  great  art  in  France.  The  all- 
round  performance  of  a  strong  emotional  play  in  Paris 
is  incomparably  above  the  all-round  performance  of  a 
strong  emotional  play  in  London;  while  the  exhibition 
of  quite  amateur  performers  in  leading  parts,  such  as  is 
not  rarely  seen  on  a  London  stage,  would  be  a  thing 
disgraceful  or  impossible  in  any  leading  city  of  France, 
to  say  nothing  of  Paris. 

Again,  in  France  the  Drama  is  reckoned  as  a  fine  art, 
and  is  judged  on  that  level ;  that  is,  as  a  means  of  pro- 
viding amusement  by  the  representation  and  interpre- 
tation of  life.     The  French  are  a  nation  of  cultivated 


28     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

playgoers,  alert  to  seize  the  finest  shades  of  the  actor's 
and  the  author's  meaning.  In  England,  the  great  mass 
of  playgoers  have  lost  all  sense  that  the  drama  is  the  art 
of  representing  life,  and  go  to  the  theatre  mainly  to  be 
awed  by  scenery,  or  to  be  tickled  by  funny  antics  and 
songs  and  dances  that  have  no  relation  to  life,  and 
merely  provide  a  means  of  wasting  the  evening  in  enter- 
tainments that  are  frequently  not  far  removed  from 
idiocy. 

If  the  English  drama  for  two  hundred  years  makes  a 
beggarly  show  when  looked  at  by  itself,  how  abject  and 
meagre  and  utterly  despicable  does  it  appear  when  com- 
pared with  the  drama  of  France  in  the  same  period. 
Once  more  we  are  brought  round  to  the  same  question, 
"  What  are  the  cawses  of  the  present  pitiable  condition 
of  the  Anglo-American  drama  to-day?"  Again  I  claim 
that  the  Anglo-American  race  is  naturally  and  instinc- 
tively a  dramatic  race ;  a  race  of  action  ;  a  race  fitted  for 
great  exploits  on  the  outer  and  larger  stage  of  the 
world's  history,  and  also  for  great  exploits  on  the  inner 
and  smaller  stage  of  the  theatre.  We  have  proved  our 
mettle  on  both  stages.  We  hold  the  world's  prize  for 
drama.  Why  then  are  we  so  far  to  seek  ?  Why  are  we 
lagging  behindhand  in  this  our  own  native  art  of  the 
drama,  when  by  right  we  should  have  the  other  nations  at 
our  heels?  How  is  it  that  these  three  poor  thin  volumes 
of  plays  are  all  that  we  have  to  show  for  two  hundred 
years  ;  while  of  living,  serious,  operative,  modern  drama 
to-day  America  and  England  have  barely  a  fragment 
that  will  stand  the  final  test  of  a  quiet  hour  in  the 
study? 

The  fundamental  reason  is  to  be  found  in  the  character 
of  our  race.  We  are  a  dramatic  race  :  we  are  also  a 
deeply  religious  race.  Religion  easily  runs  riot  to  fear 
and  meanness  and  madness,  and  builds  abominable 
hells  in  its  panic.  After  the  mellow  pomp  of  the 
Elizabethan  age,  religion  ran  riot  in  England.  We  owe 
the  imbecility  and  paralysis  of  our  drama  to-day  to  the 


CORNER  STONES  OF  MODERN   DRAMA     29 

insane  rage  of  Puritanism  that  would  see  nothing  in  the 
theatre  but  a  horrible,  unholy  thing  to  be  crushed  and 
stamped  out  of  existence.  Let  our  Puritan  friends  ask 
themselves  how  far  their  creed  is  responsible,  by  the 
natural  and  inevitable  law  of  reaction,  for  the  corruption 
of  the  national  drama  at  the  Restoration,  and  for  its 
pitiable  condition  ever  since.  The  feeling  of  horror  and 
fright  of  the  theatre,  engendered  at  the  Restoration, 
although  it  has  largely  died  away,  is  still  prevalent  and 
operative  among  religious  classes  in  England  and 
America  .It  has  muddled  and  stupefied  our  drama,  and 
has  degraded  it  from  the  rank  of  a  fine  art  to  the  rank  of 
a  frivolous  and  silly  form  of  popular  entertainment. 

I  have  pointed  out  what  I  believe  to  be  the  underlying 
cause  of  the  intellectual  degradation  of  the  Anglo- 
American  drama  to-day.  But,  attendant  on  this  primary 
cause,  are  those  other  secondary  and  resultant  causes 
and  signs  of  degradation  which  we  have  glanced  at  in 
comparing  the  English  and  French  drama.  I  will  repeat 
them  in  the  order  of  their  importance. 

(i)  The  divorce  of  the  English  drama  from  English 
literature,  of  which  it  is  indeed  the  highest  and  most 
difficult  form,  and  of  which  it  should  be  chief  ornament. 
Accompanying  this  divorce  of  literature  and  the  drama 
is  the  contempt  of  English  men  of  letters  and  literary 
critics  for  the  theatre ;  their  utter  ignorance  of  the 
difficulties  of  the  modern  dramatist ;  their  refusal  to 
recognize  the  modern  drama  as  literature,  which  refusal 
again  reacts  upon  the  dramatist,  and  tends  to  lower  the 
quality  of  his  work,  inasmuch  as  he  is  left  without 
encouragement,  and  without  any  appeal  to  high  standards 
of  literature  and  good  taste. 

(2)  The  general  absence  from  the  English  Theatre 
and  from  modern  English  plays  of  any  sane,  consistent, 
or  intelligible  ideas  about  morality ;  so  that,  while  the 
inanities  and  indecencies  of  musical  comedy  are  sniggered 
at  and  applauded,  the  deepest  permanent  passions  of 
men  and  women  are  tabooed,  and  the  serious  dramatist 


30     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

is  bidden  to  keep  his  characters  well  within  the  compass 
of  that  system  of  morality  which  is  practised  amongst 
wax  dolls. 

(3)  The  divorce  of  the  English  drama  from  its  sister 
arts;  its  deposition  from  any  assured  place  in  the  in- 
tellectual and  artistic  life  of  the  nation. 

(4)  The  absorption  of  the  English  drama  into  popular 
amusement ;  the  absence  of  any  high  standard  whereby 
to  judge  acting  or  plays ;  the  absence  of  all  great  tradi- 
tions ;  the  absence  of  all  pride  in  the  drama  as  a  fine, 
and  humane,  and  dignified  art. 

(5)  The  want  of  a  training  school  for  actors— the 
want  of  any  means  for  giving  promising  novices  a  con- 
stant practice  in  varied  roles,  so  that  they  may  gradually 
acquire  a  sure  grip  of  their  art,  and  make  the  best  of 
their  natural  gifts ;  and  so  that  the  author  may  have  a 
sufficient  supply  of  competent  actors  to  interpret  his 
characters  in  such  a  way  that  his  play  may  be  seen  to 
advantage. 

(6)  The  elevation  of  incompetent  actors  and  actresses 
into  false  positions  as  stars ;  whereby,  in  the  dearth  of 
any  high  general  level  of  experienced  and  competent  all- 
round  acting,  the  possessor  of  a  pretty  face  or  a  fine 
physique  is  able  to  dominate  the  situation,  and  to  rule 
what  plays  shall  be  produced,  and  how  they  shall  be 
cast  and  mounted ;  the  general  lack  of  all  interest  in  the 
play,  or  in  the  author's  study  of  life  and  character,  apart 
from  their  being  the  vehicle  for  the  star  actor. 

(7)  A  widely-spread  dependence  upon  translations 
and  adaptations  of  foreign  plays,  inasmuch  as  they  can 
be  bought  at  a  cheap  rate,  and,  in  the  absence  of  any 
general  care  or  knowledge  as  to  what  a  national  drama 
should  be,  are  just  as  likely  to  provide  the  leading  actor 
with  a  personal  and  pecuniary  success,  while  they  also 
largely  set  him  free  from  all  obligations  to  that  most 
objectionable  and  interfering  person,  the  author. 

Now  all  these  discouraging  symptoms  and  conditions 
of  our  modern    drama  which   I   have   glanced   at   are 


CORNER  STONES  OF  MODERN   DRAMA     31 

indeed,  only  different  aspects  of  the  same  facts ;  they  are 
inextricably  related  to  each  other;  many  of  them  are 
woven  all  of  a  piece  with  each  other,  and  with  that 
Puritan  horror  of  the  theatre  which  I  believe  has  been 
the  cardinal  reason,  why  neither  America  nor  England 
has  to-day  an  art  of  the  drama  at  all  worthy  the  dignity, 
the  resources,  and  the  self-respect  of  a  great  nation.  I 
hope  you  will  not  think  I  have  given  an  ill-natured  or 
exaggerated  sketch  of  the  present  condition  of  the 
Anglo-American  drama.  If  I  have  wounded  your 
susceptibilities,  I  have  done  it  with  the  good  intention 
of  rendering  you  some  small  help  in  your  laudable  de- 
sign of  building  up  a  great  national  school  of  American 
drama. 

Now,  if  I  have  struck  my  finger  on  the  place  in 
pointing  to  the  religious  dread  of  the  theatre,  and  the 
consequent,  abstention  from  it  of  the  best  and  soundest 
elements  of  our  nations — if  I  have  traced  our  difficulties 
and  shortcomings  to  their  true  source,  it  is  clear  that 
before  we  can  hope  for  any  signal  advance  in  dramatic 
art,  we  must  win  over  a  large  body  of  public  opinion  to 
our  views. 

In  their  attitude  towards  the  theatre  and  the  drama, 
we. may,  I  think,  make  a  rough  division  of  the  Anglo- 
American  public  into  three  classes.  Both  in  England  and 
in  America  we  have  large  masses,  indeed  millions,  of 
mere  amusement  seekers,  newly  enfranchised  from 
the  prison  house  of  Puritanism ;  eager  to  enjoy  them- 
selves at  the  theatre  in  the  easiest  way;  without 
traditions,  without  any  real  judgment  of  plays  or 
acting ;  mere  children,  with  no  care  or  thought  beyond 
the  delight  of  the  moment  in  finding  themselves  in  a 
wonder  house  where  impossibly  heroicand  self-sacrificing 
persons  make  love  and  do  prodigious  deeds,  and  marry 
and  live  happily  ever  afterwards  ;  or  in  a  funny  house 
where  funny  people  do  all  sorts  of  funny  things.  These 
form  the  great  bulk,  I  think,  of  American  and  English 
playgoers.     Then  we  have  a  large  class  of  moderate, 


32    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

reasonable,  respectable  people,  who  go  to  the  theatre 
occasionally,  but  with  some  feeling  of  discomfort  at 
having  done  a  frivolous,  if  not  a  wicked  thing ;  who  are 
not  actively  hostile  to  the  drama  perhaps,  but  who  are 
quite  indifferent  to  its  higher  development  and  to  its 
elevation  into  a  fine  art.  This  class  contains  many 
refined,  cultivated  people — that  is,  they  seem  to  be 
cultivated  and  refined  in  all  subjects  except  the  drama. 
It  is  a  constant  puzzle  to  me  why  men  and  women  whose 
brains  seem  to  be  thoroughly  developed  in  every  other 
respect  should  suddenly  drop  to  the  mental  range  of 
children  of  five  the  moment  they  think  and  speak  about 
the  drama. 

Again,  we  have  a  third  class  containing  some  of  the 
soundest  and  best  elements  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race : 
a  rapidly  diminishing  class  perhaps,  but  still  very 
influential,  very  respectable,  very  much  to  be  regarded, 
and  consulted,  and  feared.  And  this  influential  religious 
class  is  in  more  or  less  active  hostility  to  the  theatre, 
and  to  the  drama,  and  to  everything  and  everybody 
connected  therewith.  We  may  call  these  three  classes 
respectively  the  amusement-seeking  class  ;  the  moderate, 
reasonable,  indiff'erent  class  ;  the  hostile,  religious  class. 
This  is  the  very  roughest  and  loosest  division,  and  of 
course  all  these  classes  blend  and  shade  into  each  other 
without  any  rigid  line  of  distinction.  I  do  not  know 
how  actively  hostile  to  the  drama  are  the  religious 
elements  in  American  society.  I  am  told  that  while  the 
religious  prejudice  against  the  theatre  is  dying  away  in 
the  eastern  sea-board  states,  it  is  still  very  potent  and 
aggressive  in  the  west.  But  a  story  that  was  told  me 
before  leaving  England  will,  I  think,  convince  you  that 
this  religious  prejudice  is  still  a  terrible  hindrance  to 
the  highest  development  of  3'our  drama.  There  is 
nothing  in  which  Americans  can  more  legitimately  take 
pride  than  in  the  magnificent  public  spirit  shown  by 
their  wealthy  citizens.  Englishmen  stand  agape  and 
envious  at  the  large  sums  given  by  your  millionaires 


CORNER  STONES  OF   MODERN   DRAMA     33 

to  advance  and  endow  all  kinds  of  scientific,  artistic  and 
social  enterprises.  I  am  told  that  a  very  large  amount 
was  designed  by  a  wealthy  American  to  found  and 
endow  a  national  American  theatre  on  a  most  lavish 
scale;  but  he  was  persuaded  by  a  religious  friend  to  hold 
his  hand  and  shut  his  pocket,  because  of  the  evil  that 
a  national  theatre  might  work  in  your  midst.  Consider 
what  mischief  was  done  to  the  whole  American  com- 
munity by  the  frustration  of  that  most  wise,  most 
humane,  most  benevolent  scheme  !  Consider  how  many 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  your  fellow-citizens  may  in 
consequence  waste  their  evenings  in  empty  frivolity 
when  they  might  have  been  drawn  to  Shakespeare,  or, 
to  some  thoughtful  representation  of  your  own  life. 
Therefore  we  must  still  count  that  the  hostile  religious 
spirit  is  very  active  and  potent  on  your  side  of 
the  Atlantic,  as  upon  ours.  It  everywhere  sets  up 
a  current  of  ill-will  and  ill-nature  towards  the  drama 
throughout  the  two  entire  nations :  it  everywhere 
stimulates  opposition  to  the  theatre :  it  keeps  alive 
prejudices  that  otherwise  would  have  died  down  two 
hundred  years  ago  :  it  has  been,  in  my  opinion,  the  one 
great  obstacle  to  the  rise  and  development  of  a  serious, 
dignified,  national  art  of  the  drama.  I  fear  there  will 
alvvays  be  a  crew  of  unwholesome,  religious  fanatics  in 
America  and  England  who  will  be  doomed  from  their 
birth  to  be  hostile  to  the  drama.  It  is  useless  to  argue 
with  them.  Our  climate  breeds  them,  at  least  the 
English  climate  does.  You  cannot  argue  the  jaundice 
out  of  a  man,  and  advise  him  that  it  is  foolish  to  have 
a  sickly  green  complexion.  He  needs  something  far 
more  drastic  than  advice  and  argument.  We  must 
leave  the  fanatics  to  rave  against  the  theatre,  and 
against  all  art  and  beauty. 

But  among  this  actively  hostile  religious  class,  and 
also  among  the  moderate,  reasonable,  indifferent  class, 
there  must  be  thousands  who,  having  been  nurtured 
to  regard  the  theatre  as  frivolous  and  empty  and  evil, 

D 


34     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

have  adopted  the  ideas  current  around  them,  and  have 
never  taken  the  trouble  to  examine  their  stock  pre- 
judices against  the  drama,  and  to  inquire  whether  there 
is  any  ground  for  them.  To  this  large  body  of  American 
and  English  citizens ;  to  the  heads  and  leaders  of  all 
those  religious  sects  in  America  and  England  who  are 
now  hostile  to  the  drama;  and  especially  to  that  large 
allied  class  of  influential,  educated  men  in  both  countries, 
who,  if  not  actively  hostile,  are  supercilious,  and  cold, 
and  indifferent,  and  blind  to  the  aims  and  possibilities 
of  this  fine  art — to  all  these  citizens  representing  the 
best  and  soundest  elements  in  the  Anglo-American 
race,  we  may  make  a  strong  and  friendly  appeal. 

"  Brother  Puritans,  Brother  Pharisees,  the  dramatic 
instinct  is  ineradicable,  inexhaustible  :  it  is  entwined 
with  all  the  roots  of  our  nature  ;  you  may  watch  its 
incessant  activity  in  your  own  children ;  almost  every 
moment  of  the  day  they  are  acting  some  little  play ; 
as  we  grow  up  and  strengthen,  this  dramatic  instinct 
grows  up  and  strengthens  in  us ;  as  our  shadow,  it 
clings  to  us ;  we  cannot  escape  from  it ;  we  cannot 
help  re-picturing  to  ourselves  some  copy  of  this  strange, 
eventful  history  of  ours ;  this  strange,  earthly  life  ot 
ours  throws  everywhere  around  us  and  within  us 
reflections  and  re-reflections  of  itself;  we  act  it  over 
and  over  again  in  the  chambers  of  imagery,  and  in 
dreams,  and  on  the  silent  secret  stage  of  our  own  soul. 
When  some  master  dramatist  takes  these  reflections, 
and  combines  them,  and  shapes  them  into  a  play  for 
us,  very  Nature  herself  is  behind  him,  working  through 
him  for  our  welfare.  So  rigidly  economical,  so  zealously 
frugal  is  she,  that  what  is  at  first  a  mere  impulse  to 
play,  a  mere  impulse  to  masquerade  and  escape  from 
life — this  idle  pastime  she  transforms  and  glorifies  into  a 
masterpiece  of  wisdom  and  beauty;  it  becomes  our 
dear  and  lovable  guide  in  the  great  business  and 
conduct  of  life.  This  is  what  she  did  for  us  in  Shake- 
speare and  Moliere.     Consider  the  utility  of  the  theatre, 


CORNER   STONES  OF  MODERN   DRAMA      35 

you  practical  Americans  and  Englishmen !  You  have 
noticed  cats  teaching  their  kittens  to  play  at  catching 
mice.  But  this  is  their  great  business  and  duty  in  after 
life.  You  have  noticed  puppies  pretending  to  hunt,  and 
shake,  and  kill  game.  But  this  is  their  great  business 
and  duty  in  after  life.  That  is  what  all  children  and 
young  things  do.  They  play  at  their  father's  business. 
So  their  play  time  is  not  wasted,  but  is  indeed  a  wise, 
amusing  way  of  preparing  for  life.  So  Nature  teaches 
us,  her  children,  to  play  at  life  in  theatre,  that  we  may 
carelessly  and  easily  learn  the  great  rules  of  conduct ; 
that  we  may  become  insensibly  instructed  in  the  great 
art  of  living  well ;  insensibly  infected  with  a  hatred  for 
things  base  and  ungentle  and  foul ;  insensibly  infected 
with  a  passion  for  whatsoever  things  are  true,  and 
honest,  and  just,  and  pure,  and  lovely,  and  of  good  report. 

"This,  then,  is  the  use  of  the  theatre;  that  men  may 
learn  the  great  rules  of  life  and  conduct  in  the  guise  of  a 
play;  learn  them,  not  formally  and  didactically,  as  they 
learn  in  school  and  in  church,  but  pleasantly,  insensibly, 
spontaneously,  and  oftentimes,  believe  me,  with  a  more 
assured  and  lasting  result  in  manners  and  conduct.  Is 
not  that  a  wise  form  of  amusement  ?  Ought  not  every 
good  citizen  to  foster  and  encourage  it  ?  Then  why, 
Brother  Puritans,  why.  Brother  Pharisees,  are  you 
found  in  such  bitter  opposition  to  it?  If  you  are  the 
veritable  salt  of  the  earth,  as  by  your  demeanour  we 
seem  to  sniff,  and  as  by  this  appeal  we  are  willing  to 
allow — if  you  are  the  veritable  salt  of  the  earth,  where 
can  you  exhale  your  savour  to  better  effect  than  in  the 
theatres  of  your  native  land  ?  Come  amongst  us,  and 
brace  and  strengthen  us :  incidentally  we  may  sweeten, 
and  humanize  you,  and  give  you  a  larger  outlook  upon 
life. 

"Look  at  the  vast  population  of  our  great  cities 
crowding  more  into  our  theatres,  demanding  there  to 
be  given  some  kind  of  representation  of  life,  some  form 
of  play.     You  cannot  quench  that  demand.     During  the 


36    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

next  generation,  hundreds  of  theatres  will  be  opened 
all  over  America  and  England.  If  you  abstain  from 
visiting  those  theatres,  you  will  not  close  them.  Millions 
of  your  countrymen,  the  vast  masses,  will  still  frequent 
them.  The  effect  of  your  absence,  and  of  your  dis- 
countenance, will  merely  be  to  lower  the  moral  and 
intellectual  standard  of  the  plays  that  will  then  be 
given.  Will  you  never  learn  the  lesson  of  the  English 
Restoration,  that  when  the  best  and  most  serious  classes 
of  the  nation  detest  and  defame  their  theatre,  it  instantly 
justifies  their  abuse  and  becomes  indeed  a  scandal  and 
a  source  of  corruption  ?  Many  of  you  already  put 
Shakespeare  next  to  the  Bible,  as  the  guide  and  inspirer 
of  our  race.  Why  then  do  you  despise  his  calling,  and 
vilify  his  disciples,  and  misunderstand  his  art?  Do  you 
not  see  that  this  amusement,  which  you  neglect  and 
flout  and  decry,  is  more  than  an  amusement :  is  indeed 
at  once  the  finest  and  the  most  popular  of  all  the  arts, 
with  an  immense  influence  on  the  daily  lives  of  our 
fellow-citizens  ?  Help  us,  then,  to  organize  and  endow 
this  fine  art  in  all  the  cities  of  our  Anglo-American 
race,  wherever  our  common  tongue  is  spoken,  from 
London  to  San  Francisco.  Help  us  to  establish  it  in 
the  esteem  and  affections  of  our  fellow-countrymen,  as 
the  measure  of  our  advance  in  humanity  and  civilization, 
and  in  that  knowledge  of  ourselves  which  is  the  end 
and  flower  of  all  education." 

Some  such  appeal  may,  I  think,  be  made  to  the  more 
seriously  minded  of  our  countrymen  on  both  sides  the 
Atlantic.  I  have  given  it  great  prominence  in  these 
lectures,  because  I  feel  that  before  we  begin  to  build, 
we  need  to  clear  the  ground  of  the  rank  growths  of 
prejudice  and  Puritan  hatred  which  still  choke  the 
drama.  Both  in  England  and  America  we  seem  to  be 
waiting  for  some  great  national  impulse,  some  word  of 
command  for  a  general  forward  movement  towards  a 
creative  school  of  drama.  In  spite  of  many  discourage- 
ments and  humiliations  during  the  last  ten  or  twelve 


CORNER  STONES  OF  MODERN    DRAMA     37 

years  ;  in  spite  of  the  hatred  of  the  religious  world,  the 
indifference  and  contempt  of  the  educated  and  artistic 
classes,  the  debased  frivolity  of  the  multitude,  the 
zealous  envy  and  rage  of  those  whose  ignoble  trade 
and  daily  bread  it  is  to  keep  the  drama  on  a  degraded 
level — in  spite  of  all  these  hindrances,  I  believe  that 
word  of  command  will  be  spoken,  and  that  we  shall 
march  to  it.  But  if  there  is  to  be  any  stability  and 
permanence  in  the  movement,  it  must  be  a  national  one. 
We  must  engage  the  sympathies  and  co-operation  of  all 
classes.  We  have  many  schisms  and  sects  in  religion  : 
let  us  have  none  in  the  drama. 

I  have  taken  much  time,  and,  I  fear,  I  have  taxed 
your  patience  in  thus  clearing  the  ground.  But  having 
cleared  the  ground,  we  can  begin  to  lay  the  corner 
stones.  I  have  already  told  you  what  seem  to  me  to  be 
the  corner  stones  of  any  school  of  drama,  worthy  to 
be  called  national  in  such  countries  as  America  and 
England.  Perhaps  I  may  here  repeat  them  in  the 
order  of  their  importance.    They  are  these  : — 

(i)  The  recognition  of  the  drama  as  the  highest  and 
most  difficult  form  of  literature :  the  establishment  of 
definite  and  continuous  relations  between  the  drama 
and  literature. 

(2)  The  acknowledged  right  of  the  dramatist  to  deal 
with  the  serious  problems  of  life,  with  the  passions  of 
men  and  women  in  the  spirit  of  the  broad,  wise,  sane, 
searching  morality  of  the  Bible  and  Shakespeare :  his 
release  from  the  hypocritical  fiction  that  his  fellow 
creatures  are  large  wax  dolls,  stuffed  with  the  sawdust 
of  sentimentality  and  impossible  self-sacrifice.  To  sum 
up,  the  establishment  of  definite  and  continuous  relations 
between  the  drama  and  morality. 

(3)  The  severance  of  the  drama  from  popular  enter- 
tainment :  the  recognition  of  it  as  a  fine  art  which, 
though  its  lower  ranges  must  always  compound  with 
mere  popular  entertainment,  and  be  confused  with  it, 
is   yet  essentially  something    different    from    popular 


351649 


38    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

entertainment,  transcends  it,  and  in  its  higher  ranges  is  in 
marked  and  eternal  antagonism  to  popular  entertain- 
ment. To  sum  up,  the  establishment  of  definite  and  con- 
tinuous relations  between  the  drama  and  the  sister  arts. 

(4)  The  establishment  of  those  relations  between 
actor  and  author  which  shall  best  aid  the  development 
of  the  drama :  the  recognition  by  the  public  that  there 
is  an  art  of  the  drama  as  well  as  an  art  of  acting :  the 
assignment  of  their  due  place,  and  functions,  and  oppor- 
tunities to  each  :  the  breaking  down,  so  far  as  may  be 
possible,  of  the  present  deadening  system  of  long  runs  : 
the  provision  of  training  schools  for  actors  in  order  that 
they  may  get  constant  practice  and  experience  in  varied 
roles,  so  that  the  auxiliary  arts  of  the  drama  and  the 
theatre  may  keep  pace  and  tune  with  each  other;  so  that 
the  art  of  acting  may  not  languish  from  lack  of  such 
new  plays  as  may  give  great  opportunities  to  great 
actors ;  and  so  that  the  art  of  the  drama  may  not  languish 
from  the  lack  of  emotional  and  intellectual  actors.  To 
sum  up,  the  establishment  of  rigidly  definite  relations 
and  well-marked  boundaries  between  the  art  of  the 
drama  and  the  art  of  acting,  to  the  benefit  and  advance- 
ment of  both  actor  and  author. 

These  seem  to  me  to  be  the  four  corner  stones  upon 
which  we  must  build,  if  we  are  ever  to  raise,  in  England 
and  America,  an  art  of  the  drama  with  any  real  influence, 
and  import,  and  dignity  in  Anglo-American  civilization. 

But  each  of  these  four  divisions  of  the  drama  demands 
consideration  and  examination  by  itself 

Especially  I  should  have  liked  to  speak  in  this  place 
upon  the  modern  drama  and  literature.  But  1  felt  that 
the  clearing  of  the  ground  was  of  primary  importance. 
And  now  that  I  have  given  so  much  time  to  that  trouble- 
some operation,  I  fear  you  have  been  thinking  that  in 
Harvard  at  least  the  ground  has  been  already  cleared, 
and  the  first  corner  stone,  the  corner  stone  that  is  to 
bind  together  literature  and  the  modern  drama,  has  been 
already  laid  by  Professor  Baker. 


CORNER  STONES   OF  MODERN   DRAMA     39 

Well,  that  is  a  most  encouraging  fact  which  I  gladly 
recognize  and  acclaim. 

After  years  of  unsuccessful  endeavour  to  get  our 
English  playgoers  to  read  and  examine  in  the  study 
the  plays  that  had  delighted  them  on  the  stage,  I  one 
day  received  from  Professor  Baker  a  letter  to  the  effect 
that,  as  Professor  of  English  literature,  he  had  given 
his  Harvard  students  a  course  of  modern  English  plays. 
Of  all  the  many  encouragements  and  rewards  that  I 
have  received  in  England  and  America,  I  value  most 
the  recognition  that  was  conveyed  in  that  letter.  It 
was  a  bold  and  original  action  on  Professor  Baker's 
part.  He  must  have  met  with  considerable  opposition, 
and  perhaps  some  derision.  I  wonder  what  Oxford 
would  say  if  it  were  suggested  to  her  that  modern 
English  plays  should  form  a  part  of  her  teaching. 
Oxford  might  rouse  herself  for  a  moment  if  some  bold 
messenger  dare  knock  at  her  gates  on  such  an  errand, 
and  her  reply  would  be,  "  Aeschylus  I  know,  and 
Sophocles  and  Euripides  I  know,  but  who  are  ye  ?" 

"  Representatives  of  the  modern  drama." 

"Modern  drama?  We  have  heard  of  Shakespeare 
and  some  Elizabethan  dramatists,  and  we  allow  a 
footing  to  Moliere  and  the  Restoration  writers  of 
comedy.     They  represent  the  modern  drama  here." 

"  No !  No !  Not  the  drama  of  three  centuries  ago, 
and  of  a  vanished  civilization,  but  the  drama  of  to-day, 
the  modern  drama." 

"There  is  no  modern  drama,"  Oxford  would  sternly 
reply. 

"  Yes !  Yes  !  Our  plays  run  for  hundreds  of  nights 
and  consume  a  vast  quantity  of  the  winter  leisure  of  our 
city  millions,  and  help  to  fill  the  empty  spaces  in  their 
skulls  where  their  brains  ought  to  be." 

"Blank  verse?" 

"  No — plain  prose." 

"  Polished  English  prose  ?"  Oxford  would  ask. 

"No.      Unfortunately,   the    English    and    American 


40    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

public  have  abandoned  for  the  present  the  habit  of 
speaking  in  blank  verse,  or  even  in  polished  prose ; 
and  for  the  most  part  talk  a  slovenly,  slangy  short- 
hand which,  faithfully  taken  down,  reads  something 
like  a  sporting  man's  telegram,  or  snippets  of  dialogue 
from  a  cheap  comic  paper.  If  we  were  to  put  into  the 
mouths  of  our  characters  a  dignified,  resounding  prose, 
with  finely  balanced  cadences,  we  should  be  told  we 
were  stilted  and  unnatural.  So  we  put  into  the  mouths 
of  our  characters  the  actual  phrases  of  the  street  and 
the  drawing-room,  and  we  are  scorned  for  not  being 
men  of  letters  and  writing  literature." 

"  But  are  you  men  of  letters  ?  Do  you  write 
literature?"  Oxford  would  solemnly  demand. 

"Well,  scarcely,  at  present,"  we  could  only  stammer. 

"  Then  why  should  Oxford  unloose  her  hoary  dignity 
and  condescend  to  such  as  you?" 

"  We  trusted  that  Oxford,  as  the  centre  of  English 
learning  and  education,  might  aid  us  to  rescue  the 
English  drama  from  chaos  and  imbecility;  and,  incident- 
ally, help  us  to  set  a  standard  of  manners  and  conversa- 
tion all  over  the  English-speaking  world." 

"  This  smacks  to  me  of  elevating  the  masses,  and 
never  will  I  unbend  my  reverend  energies  to  such  revolt- 
ing drudgery.  The  masses !  The  masses !  Let  them 
darken  in  labour  and  pain  without  my  gates !  I  am  the 
home  of  lost  causes  and  decaying  superstitions!  What 
concern  have  I,  Oxford,  with  the  masses?" 

"  But  it  isn't  merely  the  masses.  You  must  have 
noticed  how  all  classes  of  society  regard  our  modern 
drama — " 

"Modern  drama!"  Oxford  would  thunder.  "All 
things  modern  I  abhor.  Has  not  my  old  age  been  vexed 
and  shaken  enough  by  modern  science?  Modern  drama, 
forsooth  !  There  is  no  modern  drama  !  Away  !  You 
are  raw !  You  are  crude  !  You  are  vulgar  !  I  suspect 
you  are  improper !  And  I  allow  none  but  classic  impro- 
prieties  within    my    hallowed   cloisters!      Away,    you 


CORNER  STONES  OF  MODERN   DRAMA    41 

plebeians  !  You  mountebanks  !  You  interlopers  !  Pro- 
fane not  my  gray  precincts  with  your  uncouth  diction ! 
Avaunt,  and  quit  my  sight !  Your  blood  is  warm ! 
Your  bones  are  full  of  the  marrow  of  youth !  Your  eyes 
flash  back  the  sunlight !  You  are  alive  !  And  I  suffer 
none  but  the  dead  to  enter  here  ! " 

Thus  would  Oxford  answer,  I  fear,  and  let  fall  the 
massive  portcullis  of  her  learning,  shutting  us  out  for 
ever,  while  she  goes  dreaming  on  amongst  her  dreaming 
spires. 

But  Harvard  has  welcomed  us.  Harvard  has  welcomed 
us,  and  the  other  American  Universities  have  also  opened 
their  doors.  I  have  said  that  Professor  Baker  did  a 
notable  and  courageous  thing  in  recognizing  the  modern 
English  drama  at  Harvard.  I  believe  he  also  did  a  wise 
and  far-seeing  thing,  a  deed  that  may  return  in  future 
days,  like  a  happy  harvestman  bringing  sheaves  of  ripe 
and  benign  consequences  to  American  art  and  civilization. 

When  I  was  in  America  last  autumn  after  an  absence 
of  twenty  years,  I  could  not  help  feeling  that  I  was  in 
the  presence  of  immense  forces  that  are  gradually  shift- 
ing the  foundations,  and  changing  the  drift  of  Anglo- 
American  civilization.  I  could  not  help  feeling  that  the 
sceptre  of  material  prosperity  is  slipping  from  our  hands 
into  your  vigorous,  remorseless  grasp.  I  could  not  help 
dreading  that  in  a  few  generations  the  centre  and  seat 
of  whatever  curious  system  of  Anglo-American  civiliza- 
tion may  then  be  current,  will  be  irrevocably  fixed  on 
this  side  the  Atlantic.  That  cannot  be  other  than  a 
saddening  chilling  thought  to  an  Englishman  who  loves 
his  country.  I  cannot  but  think  it  will  bring  some  sym- 
pathetic regret  to  many  Americans.  Yet,  after  all,  I 
suppose  your  chief  feeling  will  be  one  of  pride  and 
triumph  in  your  young  nation,  and  you  will  chant  over 
us  your  Emerson's  ringing  notes  : 

"  The  lord  is  the  peasant  that  was, 
The  peasant  the  lord  that  shall  be  : 
The  lord  is  hay,  the  peasant  grass, 
One  dry,  one  the  living  tree." 


42     FOUNDATIONS    OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

But  the  Empire  of  Mammon  sucks  after  it  other 
empires;  perhaps  in  our  modern  commercial  world  it 
will  suck  after  it  all  other  empires,  all  arts,  all  interests, 
all  responsibilities,  all  leaderships.  Yet  we  must  still 
trust  that  in  days  to  come,  as  in  days  of  old,  it  will  not 
be  the  sceptre  of  material  prosperity  that  will  finally  hold 
sway  over  the  earth.  Granted  that,  in  a  short  time  as 
reckoned  by  the  life  of  nations,  we  shall  have  to  hand 
over  to  you,  with  what  grace  we  may,  the  sceptre  of 
material  prosperity,  shall  we  not  still  hold  that  other 
magic  wand,  shadowy,  invisible,  but  more  compulsive 
than  sceptres  of  gold  or  iron — the  sceptre  of  literary, 
intellectual  and  artistic  dominion  ?  Or  will  you  wrest 
that  also  from  us  ? 

May  we  not  rather  hope  to  see  both  nations  united  in 
a  great  assay  to  build  one  common  monument  of  grace- 
ful, wise,  beautiful,  dignified,  human  existence  on  both 
sideslthe  Atlantic  ?  Your  nation  has,  what  all  young 
nations  have,  what  perhaps  England  is  losing ;  the 
power  to  be  moved  by  ideas ;  and  that  divine  resilient 
quality  of  youth,  the  power  to  be  stirred  and  frenzied  by 
ideals.  If  a  guest  whom  you  have  honoured  so  much, 
may  whisper  his  most  fervent  wishes  for  your  country, 
he  would  say,  "  As  you  vie  with  us  in  friendly  games 
and  contests  of  bodily  strength,  may  you  more  resolutely 
vie  with  us  for  the  mastership  in  art  and  in  the  ornament 
of  life ;  build  statelier  homes,  nobler  cities,  and  more 
aspiring  temples  than  we  have  built;  let  your  lives  be 
fuller  of  meaning  and  purpose  than  ours  have  lately 
been  ;  have  the  wisdom  richly  to  endow  and  unceasingly 
to  foster  all  the  arts,  and  all  that  makes  for  majesty  of 
life,  and  loftiness  of  character,  rather  than  for  material 
prosperity  and  comfort.  Especially  foster  and  honour 
this  supreme  art  of  Shakespeare's,  so  much  neglected 
and  misunderstood  in  both  countries  ;  endow  it  in  all 
your  cities  ;  build  dignified  beautiful  theatres  free  from 
degraded  tawdry  decorations  ;  train  your  actors  :  reward 
your  dramatists,  sparingly  with  fees,  but  lavishly  with 


CORNER   STONES  OF  MODERN   DRAMA      43 

laurels;  bid  them  dare  to  paint  American  life  sanely, 
truthfully,  searchingly,  for  you.  Dare  to  see  your  life 
thus  painted.  Dare  to  let  your  drama  ridicule  and 
reprove  your  follies  and  vices  and  deformities.  Dare  to 
let  it  mock  and  whip,  as  well  as  amuse,  you.  Dare  to  let 
it  be  a  faithful  mirror.  Make  it  one  of  your  chief 
counsellors.  Set  it  on  the  summit  of  your  national 
esteem,  for  it  will  draw  upwards  all  your  national  life 
and  character.  Like  the  gurgoyles  of  Notre  Dame  it  will 
offer  you  shapes  and  images  of  human  vice  and  foulness 
for  your  perpetual  hate  and  avoidance  ;  like  the  statuary 
of  the  Parthenon  it  will  offer  you  shapes  and  images  of 
human  loveliness  and  wisdom  for  your  perpetual  desire 
and  admiration. 


Ill 


LITERATURE   AND  THE   MODERN    DRAMA 

A  lecture  delivered  to  Yale  University  on  the  evening  of  Monday, 
November  5  th,  1906.     Chairman,  President  Hadley. 

In  an  introductory  lecture  I  gave  last  week  at  Harvard, 
I  tried  to  clear  the  ground  for  laying  the  corner  stones 
of  a  National  Anglo-American  drama.  I  tried  to  justify 
the  phrase  "national  Anglo-American  drama"  by  point- 
ing out  that  for  many  years  past  the  same  ranges  of 
poetic  and  modern  drama  have  been  common  ground  to 
both  nations;  and  that  the  highest  talent  in  acting  had 
been  equally  at  the  service  of  both  nations,  and  had  been 
equally  at  home  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  I  asked 
leave  to  assume  provisionally  that  America  and  England 
are  for  the  present  twin  nations  in  the  affairs  of  the 
drama.  If,  however,  you  prefer  that  I  should  use  the 
phrase  "  wz/^^national  Anglo-American  drama,"  I  will 
immediately  substitute  it.  Or  if  you  wish  me  to  use  the 
phrase  "national  Americo-Anglian  drama,"  then  I  can 
only  whisper  with  a  chastened  softened  air  that  Americo- 
Anglian  may  be  the  current  adjective  in  generations 
to  come. 

Perhaps  at  the  outset  you  may  be  inclined  to  say  that 
if  you  need  to  be  instructed  in  the  duty,  may  I  say?  of 
building  up  a  national  American  drama,  you  would 
rather  be  instructed  by  an  American  citizen.  Let  me 
declare  that  I  am  heartily  in  sympathy  with  the  feeling 
that  would  prompt  you  to  make  such  a  remark.  Let  me 
disclaim  any  wish  to  intrude  upon  a  province  which  you 
may  justly  feel  is  especially  the  domain  of  your  own 

44 


LITERATURE  AND  THE  MODERN  DRAMA    45 

playwrights.  But  I  have  received  so  much  kindness 
from  American  dramatists,  that  I  think  I  may  beg  them 
in  the  spirit  of  the  warmest  comradeship  to  allow  me  to 
speak  here  on  our  common  art  without  the  uncomfort- 
able feeling  on  either  side  that  I  am  a  meddlesome 
foreigner.  For  the  general  body  of  American  play- 
goers, I  can  only  say  that  I  should  ill  repay  the  most 
generous  welcome  that  America  has  given  my  work  if  I 
stood  here  in  any  controversial  spirit  to  dispute  at  the 
table  of  my  hosts,  to  arraign  and  to  argue  where  I  should 
only  return  thanks. 

I  stand  here  the  most  grateful  guest,  the  most  grateful 
servant  of  American  playgoers.  But  sometimes  servants 
are  consulted  in  those  affairs  which  are  left  in  their 
charge.  And  sometimes  a  good  servant  may  be  pardoned 
if  he  ventures  to  offer  an  opinion  on  his  own  account. 
Let  me  liken  myself  to  a  practical  clockmaker,  who  has 
been  employed  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  to  tinker  the 
clock  of  the  Anglo-American  drama.  Now,  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic  there  have  lately  been  very  uneasy 
suspicions  and  complaints  that  the  clock  does  not  go. 
If  you  dispute  that  statement,  and  point  to  the  great 
material  prosperity  of  our  theatres,  the  crowded  houses, 
the  long  runs,  the  enormous  salaries  obtained  by  actors, 
I  shall  still  affirm  that  although  the  clock  has  occasional 
spasmodic  movements,  and  sometimes  strikes  the  right 
hour,  yet  it  does  not  keep  constant  time,  or  anything  like 
constant  time.  It  does  not  go.  I  shall  point  out  that 
England  and  America — the  most  wealthy  nations  in  the 
world — have  nothing  that  can  by  any  stretch  of  charity 
be  called  a  national  drama.  We  have  many  arts,  and 
institutions,  and  charities  in  which  we  may  justly  take 
some  pride.  In  the  drama  itself  we  have  many  individual 
performers  and  performances,  and  some  plays  that  may 
deservedly  be  praised.  But  is  there  a  single  Englishman 
or  American,  above  the  mental  capacity  of  a  parrot,  who 
takes  a  pride  in  his  country's  drama  as  a  whole ;  as  an 
organized,  dignified   art ;   as   something  of  a  different 


46    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

nature,  and  on  a  different  level  from  mere  casual  hap- 
hazard entertainment?  If  such  an  educated  English- 
man or  educated  American  exists  I  have  never  met  him, 
I  shall  be  glad  if  he  will  declare  himself  and  prove  me  to 
be  wrong.  Have  you  ever  heard  an  educated  American 
or  Englishman  express  such  a  feeling?  But  why 
should  not  England  and  America  have  a  national  drama 
which  can  be  regarded  with  pride  and  affection  by  their 
citizens? 

It  is  at  this  juncture  that  perhaps  you  will  allow  an 
old  servant,  whom  you  have  employed  to  tinker  the 
dramatic  clock,  to  give  you  his  opinion  why  it  does  not 
go.  This  then  is  my  excuse  for  standing  here.  Any  one 
who  owns  a  watch  can  easily  see  that  it  does  not  keep 
time ;  but  it  is  only  a  practical  watchmaker  who  knows 
the  business  of  every  cog  and  the  mystery  of  every 
spring,  that  can  explain  to  you,  the  benevolent  owner  of 
the  watch,  why  it  does  not  go. 

In  my  introductory  lecture  at  Harvard,  I  tried  to  show 
that  any  possible  national  school  of  Anglo-American 
drama  must  be  built  upon  these  four  corner  stones  : 

The  establishment  of  right  and  definite  and  con- 
tinuous relations  between  the  drama  and  literature ; 
between  the  drama  and  morality  ;  between  the  drama 
and  popular  entertainment;  between  the  drama  and  the 
theatre. 

I  purpose  in  this  lecture  to  deal  with  the  relations 
that  exist,  or  rather  with  the  relations  that  do  not  exist, 
between  literature  and  the  drama  in  America  and 
England.  Here  I  may  perhaps  call  your  attention  to  a 
suggestive  and  well-reasoned  paper  by  Mr.  Brander 
Matthews  on  the  relations  of  the  drama  to  literature. 
He  truly  points  out  that  the  art  of  the  drama  is  not 
coincident  with  literature,  that  though  it  sometimes 
overlaps  literature,  it  must  not  be  judged  solely  by  the 
same  rules  as  a  piece  of  literature.  Mr.  Brander 
Matthews  covers  widely  different  ground  in  that  paper 
from  the  ground  I  propose  to  take  you  over  to-night. 


LITERATURE  AND  THE  MODERN  DRAMA    47 

For  one  thing,  he  establishes  a  striking  likeness  between 
the  art  of  the  drama  and  the  art  of  oratory,  inasmuch  as 
their  immediate  appeal  is  to  a  crowd,  and  if  that  imme- 
diate appeal  is  lost — all  is  lost.  He  quotes  with  approval 
from  the  preface  by  Dumas  fils  to  the  "  Pcre  Prodigue" : 
"  A  dramatic  work  should  always  be  written  as  though 
it  was  only  to  be  read.  .  .  .  The  spectator  gives  it 
vogue :  The  reader  makes  it  durable."  Mr.  Brander 
Matthews  sums  up  the  whole  matter  in  one  pregnant 
sentence:  "Only  literature  is  permanent."  That  is  a 
great  saying  which  every  American  and  English  play- 
wright should  print  on  the  inside  cover  of  his  writing- 
case. 

Now,  if  I  were  to  ask  you  "  What  are  the  present 
relations  between  American  drama  and  American  litera- 
ture? How  many  American  plays  are  in  active  circula- 
tion amongst  you,  so  that  on  reading  them  over  you  can 
put  your  finger  on  the  fine  passages  that  amused  you  or 
stirred  you  when  you  saw  them  acted  ?  How  often  do 
you  go  to  a  theatre,  and  the  next  day  take  from  the 
library  shelf  the  play  of  the  previous  evening,  and  chew 
the  cud  of  the  author's  wisdom,  or  passion,  or  satire,  as 
a  Frenchman  can  chew  the  cud  of  a  living  French  dra- 
matist, as  a  Norwegian  can  chew  the  cud  of  his  modern 
Ibsen  ?  " — if  I  were  to  ask  you  these  questions  you  would 
reply :  "  We  are  a  young  nation ;  we  are  still  partly  in 
the  leading  strings  of  England  in  matters  of  art  and 
literature  :  we  have  scarcely  had  time  to  build  our  house, 
much  less  to  decorate  it.  Our  art,  and  our  literature, 
and  our  drama  are  at  present  in  the  nebulous  state, 
scarcely  even  in  the  fluid,  certainly  not  in  the  final  con- 
gealed, concrete  state.  It  is  not  fair  to  us  to  ask  such  a 
question  as:  "What  is  the  relation  between  American 
literature  and  the  American  drama  ?  "  Very  well,  I  won't 
ask  it.  In  place  of  that  question,  I  will  ask  another : 
"  Seeing  that  only  literature  is  permanent,  seeing  that 
all  plays  that  are  not  literature,  however  amusing  or 
exciting  or  popular,  must  quickly  perish ;  nay,  did  really 


48    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

perish  before  they  were  born ;  seeing  that  it  is  the 
literary  quality  which  keeps  fresh  and  vital  and  opera- 
tive upon  our  stage  to-day,  the  plays  of  Shakespeare, 
Moli^re,  Sheridan — how  can  a  relation  be  established 
between  literature  and  the  modern  acted  drama  in  the 
theatres  of  America  and  England  to-day?" 

For,  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  only  by  the  establishment 
of  this  relation  that  Americans  and  Englishmen  can 
have  a  national  drama  in  which  they  can  take  a  legitimate 
pride,  or  indeed  a  drama  that  is  worth  a  single  moment's 
discussion.  I  am  sure  it  was  with  some  such  idea  in 
your  minds,  the  idea  that  the  drama  is  worth  earnest 
consideration,  that  it  is  of  vast  importance  in  your 
national  economy,  that  it  needs  to  be  clarified  from  mere 
popular  entertainment  and  set  upon  a  permanent  intel- 
lectual basis — it  was  with  this  idea  that  you  invited  me 
to  speak  to  you  about  my  art. 

Now,  if  it  would  be  unfair  to  ask :  "  What  is  the 
present  relation  between  American  literature  and  the 
American  drama?"  it  would  be  satirical  to  ask  :  "What 
is  the  present  relation  between  English  literature  and 
the  English  drama?" 

Briefly,  in  England  men  of  letters  have  mostly  an 
open  contempt  for  the  modern  drama,  or  at  the  best  a 
supercilious  indifference.  They  have  also  a  careless 
notion  that  playwriting  is  an  easy  ignoble  form  of 
scribbling  which  makes  much  money.  No  notion  could 
be  more  false  or  more  fantastic  with  regard  to  any 
worthy  play.  English  and  American  dramatists  are 
greatly  indebted  to  Mr.  Brander  Matthews  for  his  con- 
stant affirmation  that  the  drama  is  the  most  difficult, 
the  most  subtle,  the  most  noble  form  of  literature.  I 
can  only  invite  those  who  doubt  his  assertion  to  make 
the  experiment.  At  the  end  of  twenty  years  they  will 
be  inclined  to  agree  with  him. 

If  wc  mass  together  both  our  countries  and  ask  what 
notion,  or  notions,  the  general  body  of  Anglo-American 
playgoers  have  formed  of  the  relations  of  the  drama  to 


LITERATURE  AND  THE   MODERN    DRAMA    49 

literature,  I  think  we  must  own  that  for  the  most  part 
they  are  in  a  very  blessed  state  of  child-like  innocence 
about  the  whole  matter.  One  very  common  cardinal 
notion,  however,  seems  to  possess  playgoers  on  both 
sides  the  Atlantic.  It  is  the  notion  that  a  costume  play, 
a  play  whose  scenes  are  laid  anywhere,  and  at  any  time 
between  the  birth  of  Christ  and  1840,  does  by  that  very 
fact  acquire  a  literary  merit,  a  literary  distinction  and 
profound  significance  which  rank  it  immeasurably  above 
the  mere  prose  play  of  modern  everyday  life.  It  matters 
not  whether  the  personages  of  the  costume  play  talk 
blank  verse,  or  a  patchwork  diction  compounded  from 
every  literary  and  conversational  style  from  Chaucer  to 
a  Whitechapel  costermonger;  to  the  great  majority  of 
playgoers  the  costume  play  brings  that  elevation  of 
mind  and  feeling,  that  vague  but  gratifying  sense  of 
superiority  which  was  felt  by  the  Bourgeois  Gentil- 
homme  when  he  discovered  that,  without  taking  the 
least  pains,  he  was  a  person  of  very  considerable 
literary  attainments.  This  feeling  of  awe  in  the  pre- 
sence of  a  costume  play  has  persisted  as  long  as  I  can 
remember.  In  my  early  playgoing  days  it  was  chiefly 
called  forth  by  the  blank  verse  plays  of  Bulwer  Lytton 
and  Sheridan  Knowles.  Leading  actors  played  on 
alternative  evenings,  "  Hamlet"  and  "The  Hunchback"; 
"Othello"  and  "The  Lady  of  Lyons";  "The  Merchant 
of  Venice  "  and  "  The  Love  Chase."  Each  item  of  the 
repertory  equally  aroused  in  the  actor  the  sense  of 
meritorious  poetic  achievement,  and  in  the  audience  the 
sense  of  reverent,  elevated,  aesthetic  delight.  Bulwer 
Lytton  and  Sheridan  Knowles  have  now  retired  from 
competition  with  Shakespeare.  Who  has  taken  their 
place  in  the  repertory  of  leading  actors  ?  One  or  two 
plays  of  genuine  poetic  merit  have  been  produced,  have 
been  cordially  recognized,  and  have  been  played  with 
some  degree  of  success.  It  would,  however,  be  rash  to 
hope  that  they  will  keep  a  permanent  hold  of  the  stage. 
Many    costume    pieces    have    been    produced  with 

E 


50    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

considerable  success  and  profit.  One  or  two  of  them 
have  been  really  well  written,  and  may  claim  to  rank  as 
literature.  But  for  the  most  part,  the  costume  pieces 
that  are  successful  on  our  stage  are  very  sorry  pieces 
of  fustian  and  artifice,  and  would  not  bear  a  moment's 
examination  in  print.  Indeed,  I  fancy  it  is  mainly  the 
costume  of  the  leading  actor,  his  lofty  tone,  his  imperial 
air,  that  persuade  our  good-natured  playgoers  that  the 
ancillary  literature  of  the  play  must  needs  be  corre- 
spondingly sublime.  When  such  very  fine  clothes  are 
paraded,  such  heroic  sentiments  uttered,  such  gallant 
deeds  done,  such  lavish,  nay,  such  wasteful  feats  of 
self-sacrifice  performed  under  our  very  eyes,  I  fear  it 
shows  a  mean  and  churlish  spirit  to  call  for  any  exami- 
nation of  the  author's  diction,  of  the  truth  of  his 
characterization,  or  indeed  of  the  common-sense  of  his 
whole  scheme. 

I  remember  a  scene  in  a  West  End  London  theatre  that 
effectively  showed  to  what  extent  an  audience  may  be 
moved  to  a  wild  expression  of  approval  by  the  assured 
tone  and  manner  of  the  actor.  A  venerable  old  village 
clergyman  came  up  to  London  and  discovered  his  only 
son  in  an  undesirable  relationship  with  an  undesirable 
lady.  The  old  man  was  heartbroken,  and  used  all  the 
arguments  of  his  profession  to  recall  the  boy  to  a  sense 
of  his  duty  to  society.  Having  failed  to  move  the 
young  man,  the  white-haired  old  father  at  length  re- 
vealed the  fact  that  he,  too,  in  his  youth  had  formed 
a  like  undesirable  attachment :  "  But,"  sternly  declared 
the  venerable  old  clergyman,  "  when  honour  called, 
I  flung  her  off,  and  married  your  mother!"  This 
atrocious  sentiment  was  delivered  with  so  much  dignity 
and  severity  of  moral  conviction,  that  it  called  forth 
boundless  applause  night  after  night  from  the  audience. 
And  I  do  not  doubt  that  our  actors,  by  their  elevated 
tone,  manner  and  bearing,  are  largely  responsible  for 
the  notion  so  widely  prevalent  amongst  playgoers  that 
a    costume    play   must     necessarily    rank     higher     as 


LITERATURE  AND  THE   MODERN   DRAMA    51 

literature  than  the  prose  play  of  everyday  modern  life. 
Please  do  not  suppose  that  I  am  bringing  a  sweeping 
charge  of  wilful  deception  against  actors  generally.  In 
most  cases  their  enthusiastic  production  of  costume 
plays  cannot  be  ascribed  to  any  baser  or  other  motive 
than  an  ignorance  of  what  literature  is.  As  a  rule, 
actors  honestly  believe  that  some  superior  literary 
merit  natively  clings  to  a  play  that  is  not  written  in 
modern  everyday  prose,  and  that  great  artistic  merit 
may  be  claimed  for  losing  five  or  ten  thousand  pounds 
in  producing  a  costume  blank  verse  play.  Oh,  the  vast 
sums  of  money  that  have  been  lost  in  exploiting  such 
plays  in  the  mischievous  idea  that  they  are  "  literary," 
and  that  the  public  taste  is  elevated  by  producing  them  ! 
More  than  enough  to  establish  and  endow  national 
theatres  in  England  and  America ! 

I  will  make  the  statement  that  in  the  matter  of  the 
permanent  worth  of  plays,  the  public,  without  taking 
much  thought  or  care  about  the  matter,  has  on  the  whole 
a  surer  instinct  and  a  higher  taste  than  the  actor.  For 
with  the  actor,  personal  and  ulterior  considerations 
must  often  intrude  and  warp  his  judgment.  The 
literary  merit,  the  permanent  worth  of  the  play,  must 
always,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  be  a  matter  of 
secondary  importance  to  the  actor,  so  far  as  he  has 
the  true  spirit  and  the  rightful  ambition  of  the  actor 
within  him.  To  deny  this  is  to  deny  that  human  nature 
is  human  nature.  "  Have  I  the  best  part?  Shall  I  score 
above  everybody  else  in  the  cast  ?  Shall  I  hold  or 
better  my  starry  position,  or  will  it  be  taken  from  me?" 
Does  any  one  deny  that  these  must  always  be  the  chief 
considerations  of  the  actor?  Again,  I  tell  him  he  is 
merely  affirming  that  human  nature  is  not  human 
nature.  It  is  quite  right,  and  indeed  it  is  most  urgent 
for  the  success  of  his  career,  that  a  leading  actor  should 
make  his  own  part  his  chief  concern.  But  this  first 
necessity  of  his  position  must  always  govern  and 
colour     and     influence     his     choice,    and     sometimes 


52     FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

altogether  distort  his  judgment  of  plays.  The  matter  is 
of  the  greatest  importance,  but  it  may  be  more  con- 
veniently discussed  when  dealing  with  relations  of  the 
drama  to  the  theatre. 

I  fear  that  sometimes  a  motive  quite  alien  from  a  love 
of  literature,  or  from  mere  ignorance  of  what  literature 
is,  decides  a  leading  actor's  choice  of  a  play  and  moves 
him  to  give  preference  to  a  costume  piece.  Until  quite 
recent  years,  our  British  Army  clad  its  recruits  in 
flaming  scarlet,  and  thus  gave  them  an  unfair  advantage 
over  us  mere  civilians  in  the  important  matter  of 
winning  the  hearts  of  their  females.  If  the  great 
Hebrew  prophet's  question,  "  Wherefore  art  thou  red 
in  thy  apparel?"  had  been  put  to  the  young  British 
soldier,  he  would  have  answered,  "To  sweetheart  the 
nursemaids  in  the  Park." 

It  is  only  within  the  last  century  that  the  European 
male  has  dropped  the  immemorial  costume,  common  to 
him  and  to  all  male  animals,  birds,  and  insects  from 
creation  onwards,  of  outblazing  and  dominating  his 
female  by  the  splendour  of  his  raiment,  coat,  skin,  fur, 
or  feathers.  It  is  with  great  humiliation  that  a  lover 
of  the  theatre  must  reluctantly  confess  that  in  the  matter 
of  male  garments,  as  in  matters  intellectual,  the  British 
theatre  tends  to  lag  about  a  century  behind  date.  For 
to  ask  a  plain  question — "  Has  all  this  costume  bravery 
of  the  stage  any  higher,  or  any  other,  significance 
than  the  soldier's  scarlet  tunic,  displayed  before  the 
worshipping  nursemaid  ?  " 

You  have  two  phrases  in  America,  "Matinee  girl" 
and  "  Matinee  idol."  We  have  not  the  phrases  in 
England,  but  we  have  the  corresponding  personages. 
At  a  recent  matinee  given  in  an  English  city  by  one  of 
our  most  deservedly  popular  stage  heroes,  it  is  credibly 
alleged  that  at  the  opening  of  the  doors  two  hundred 
and  seventy-nine  ladies  passed  the  pay-box.  Then  a 
single  man  appeared.  But  he  was  a  curate.  I  do  not 
think  that  any  explanation  can  be  offered  of  this  incident 


LITERATURE  AND  THE   MODERN   DRAMA    53 

that  would  flatter  the  dramatic  taste  of  the  town,  or, 
indeed,  that  concerns  the  drama  at  all.  I  think  the 
only  explanation  that  can  be  given  of  these  matinee 
phenomena  is  to  class  them  with  the  nursemaid  and 
the  soldier  in  the  Park ;  except,  indeed,  that  the  nurse- 
maid has  this  great  advantage,  or  disadvantage — she 
does  actually  talk  with  her  hero,  and  in  many  cases  is 
made  the  veritable  and  unfortunate  heroine  of  the  story. 
Now,  I  think  I  had  better  pause.  I  have  made  a 
mortal  enemy  of  every  matinee  young  lady  and  every 
matinee  idol  in  England  and  America.  I  hasten  to 
express  my  deep  sorrow,  and  to  make  a  bow  of  pro- 
found apology  all  round  on  both  sides  the  Atlantic. 
Let  me  first  try  to  win  back  a  smile  of  goodwill  from 
the  matinee  young  lady  and  all  her  sisters ;  from  those 
who  form  so  large,  so  powerful,  so  desirable,  so  welcome 
a  majority  of  many  of  our  theatrical  audiences  in  England 
and  America.  Let  me  take  a  grandfather's  privilege  and 
whisper  a  little  confidential  aside  to  the  matinee  young 
lady.  "  My  dear  granddaughter,  never  will  I  be  so 
foolish  as  to  bring  this  tiresome  art  of  the  drama  into 
competition  with  the  great  business,  the  fine  art  of  love- 
making.  I  have  claimed  for  the  drama  that  it  is  the 
finest  of  all  arts,  but  between  ourselves  I  frankly  own 
it  sinks  into  insignificance  beside  your  own  natural  art, 
which  is  truly,  the  oldest,  the  finest,  the  subtlest  of  all 
the  arts.  It  is  better  to  have  'a  vermeil-tinctured  lip' 
than  a  sound  contempt  for  fustian  blank  verse ;  while 
the  vastest  literary  possessions  are  a  very  drug  com- 
pared with  the  possession  of  'love-darting  eyes  and 
tresses  like  the  morn.'  Therefore,  do  not  think  that 
I  am  scolding  you,  or  questioning  your  good  taste  in 
flocking  to  costume  plays  and  in  worshipping  your 
matinee  idols.  But  I  would  like  you  to  recognize,  and 
I  would  like  those  who  direct  your  taste  to  recognize, 
that  all  this  nursemaid  and  red  soldier  business  is  only 
very  distantly  and  incidentally  connected  with  the 
drama ;  while  a  confirmed  indulgence  in  it,  a  belief  in 


54     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

it  as  actuality,  is  quite  destructive  of  your  enjoyment, 
or,  indeed  of  your  comprehension,  of  any  serious  drama 
whatever.  I  would  say  of  all  this  costume  flummery 
and  fustian,  what  I  so  constantly  say  of  popular  enter- 
tainment, 'Enjoy  it  by  all  means,  but  recognize  it  for 
what  it  is.  Separate  it  from  your  drama ;  that  is, 
separate  it  in  your  own  minds,  when  you  are  talking 
and  thinking  about  it'  I  do  not  ask  or  expect  that  it 
shall  be  separated  on  the  boards  of  all  our  theatres,  or 
in  the  words  and  business  of  all  our  plays.  That  is 
impossible.  Even  in  Shakespeare's  greatest  tragedies 
there  are  occasional  sops  of  popular  entertainment 
thrown  in ;  while  in  the  most  inane  musical  farce,  in 
the  most  violent  melodrama,  in  the  most  fallacious 
costume  play,  there  are  occasional  strokes  of  wit  and 
humour,  occasional  scenes  of  true  pathos,  occasional 
apparitions  of  dead  heroes  and  clashing  antagonists, 
which  justify  us  in  marking  those  particular  passages 
respectively,  as  morsels  of  true  comedy,  true  drama, 
or  true  tragedy.  In  all  these  instances  it  is  a  question 
of  distinguishing  what  is  senseless  foolery,  false  senti- 
ment, or  cardboard  armour ;  what  is  dross  from  what 
is  gold." 

With  one  little  parting  insinuation  not  to  take 
costume  stage  heroes  at  too  high  a  valuation,  I  again 
humbly  apologize  to  the  matinee  young  lady  for  having 
disturbed  her  maiden  meditations  with  my  most  rude, 
my  most  impertinent  remarks.  But  I  hope  I  shall  win 
her  sometimes  to  give  her  attention  to  modern  serious 
drama  where  superhuman  heroism  and  self-sacrifice  arc 
not  dealt  out  in  wholesale  quantities,  but  where  human 
courage  is  sustained,  and  the  aesthetic  instincts  gratified 
by  the  presentation  of  men  and  women,  not  as  they 
impossibly  ought  to  have  been  in  the  Middle  Ages,  but 
as  they  are  to-day  on  the  hard  actual  surface  of  this 
planet.  I  hope  I  have  made  my  peace  with  the  matinee 
young  lady. 

1  have  still  to  reckon  with  the  redoubtable  costume 


LITERATURE  AND  THE  MODERN   DRAMA    55 

hero  myself.  My  first  instinct  is  to  hide  myself,  lest  in 
a  fit  of  justifiable  anger  he  should  challenge  me  to 
mortal  combat  by  pistol,  rapier,  or  broadsword :  and 
upon  discovering  my  caitiff  terror  of  him,  deal  me  one 
mortal  thrust  with  the  jewelled  dagger  that  always  hangs 
so  opportunely  at  his  jewelled  belt.  Perhaps,  however, 
I  had  better  take  heart  and  face  him  with  the  simple 
request  to  ponder  carefully  what  I  have  said.  He  will 
find  that  I  have  not  uttered  one  word  that  can  give 
offence  to  those  actors  who  have  a  high  esteem  for  their 
calling,  not  as  it  quaintly  appoints  them  judges  and 
arbiters  of  dramatic  literature,  or  as  it  provides  them 
with  the  means  and  opportunity  of  captivating  the 
matinee  young  lady,  but  as  it  gives  them  the  chance  of 
fulfilling  the  actor's  legitimate  ambition,  which,  I  humbly 
submit,  is — to  act.  And  it  is  noticeable  that  the  greatest 
actors  have  a  natural  contempt  for  these  matinee  idol 
parts.  Irving  mainly  eschewed  them,  and  Edwin  Booth 
is  said  to  have  detested  playing  a  lover. 

With  regard  to  the  costume  play  itself,  I  hope  I  have 
not  shown  ill-nature  in  dealing  with  a  class  of  play  with 
which,  I  confess,  I  have  little  sympathy.  I  will  ask  any 
one  who  questions  my  attitude  towards  the  costume 
play  to  read  carefully  a  recent  essay  by  Mr.  Brander 
Matthews  on  the  Historical  Novel.  The  argumentswhich 
Mr.  Matthews  advances  with  irresistible  force  and  insight 
against  the  Historical  Novel  may  be  equally  levelled 
against  the  Historical  play.  I  beg  all  playwrights,  in- 
tending to  write  costume  or  historical  plays,  to  look 
once,  nay  twice,  and  yet  once  again  at  Mr.  Brander 
Matthews'  article. 

There  is  a  recurring  tendency  in  every  generation 
to  write  and  to  believe  in  the  same  kind  of  sublime 
nonsense  that  Cervantes  laughed  away  more  than  three 
centuries  ago.  In  truth,  this  return  to  fustian  romance 
is  perennial,  and  needs  always  to  be  laughed  away. 
You  have  a  not  distant  kinsman  of  Cervantes  in  America 
to-day  who  has  laughed  away  much  of  this  nonsense 


56    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

from  literature.  Will  not  Mark  Twain  do  your  nascent 
American  drama  the  service  of  clearing  it  at  the  start 
from  sham  heroes  and  sham  heroics  ? 

I  have  given  much  time  to  point  out  what  I  do  not 
mean  by  uniting  the  Anglo-American  drama  and  litera- 
ture. But  doubtless  students  at  Yale  will  tell  me  that 
Professor  Phelps  has  taken  good  care  to  safeguard  them 
from  tumbling  into  the  fallacy  I  have  all  this  time  been 
warning  them  against.  You  will  say  it  is  granted  that 
the  fustian  costume  play  is  not  literature,  and,  therefore, 
cannot  be  permanent ;  and,  therefore,  cannot  be  the  type 
and  foundation  of  any  worthy  school  of  drama.  But 
what  about  the  genuine  poetic  drama?  What  about  a 
school  of  modern  blank-verse  plays  ? 

Now,  the  drama  being  a  highly  conventional  art,  like 
sculpture,  it  is  certain  that  its  highest  and  most  en- 
during achievements  must  always  be  wrought  in  the 
conventional  language  of  poetry.  The  greatest  things  in 
nature  or  in  life  can  never  be  expressed,  or  painted,  or 
carved,  or  represented  in  exact  imitation  of  real  life,  or 
in  the  spirit  of  modern  realism.  Least  of  all  in  sculpture 
and  in  the  drama  can  they  be  so  bodied  forth.  There- 
fore, the  greatest  examples  of  drama  are  poetic  drama, 
and  the  highest  schools  of  drama  are,  and  must  ever  be, 
schools  of  poetic  drama.  But  I  think  it  would  be  a  sad 
waste  of  time  if  England  or  America  were  to  put  forth 
any  self-conscious  efforts  to  found  and  sustain  a  school 
of  poetic  drama  to-day ;  or,  indeed,  to  hope  that  by  any 
possible  process  of  manipulation  or  endowment  the  rising 
generation  of  English  and  American  playwrights  can 
with  laboured  forethought  accomplish  what  the  Eliza- 
bethans did  naturally  and  spontaneously.  Any  living 
school  of  drama  must  be  organically  bound  up  with  the 
daily  lives  of  the  people  ;  and  it  is  useless  for  English- 
men or  Americans  to  hope  for  much  poetry  in  their 
drama  till  they  have  put  a  little  more  into  their  lives — 
that  is,until  the  present  reign  of  omnipotent,  omnipresent 
commercialism  is  at  an  end. 


LITERATURE  AND  THE   MODERN   DRAMA    57 

The  Elizabethan  drama  came  at  an  exact  moment  in 
the  life  of  the  English  language  and  of  the  English  race ; 
at  an  exact  distance  from  the  Renascence  and  the  Re- 
formation :  it  was  indirectly  related  to  gorgeous  dreams 
of  empire;  to  great  national  ambitions;  to  a  noble  style 
in  architecture,  and  to  many  other  conditions  which  do 
not  prevail  to-day  either  in  England  or  America.  Neither 
the  habits  of  life,  nor  the  mould  of  thought,  nor  the 
period  of  development  in  either  the  English  or  the 
American  language,  is  at  all  favourable  to  the  prospects 
of  the  poetic  drama  on  either  side  the  Atlantic.  Such 
examples  of  blank  verse  drama  as  obtain  a  fitful  success 
on  our  modern  stage,  even  those  which  contain  scenes 
and  lines  of  genuine  poetry,  seem  to  lack  the  freedom 
and  bustle  of  healthy  life ;  they  have  the  uncomfortable 
air  of  men  cased  in  armour,  walking  on  stilts  down 
Piccadilly  or  Broadway.  They  do  not  reflect  or  interpret 
our  own  lives,  or  any  life ;  they  reflect  reflections  of  life 
from  the  stage,  and  from  poetry  and  history. 

I  do  not  think  there  is  the  least  hope  of  successfully 
founding  and  developing  a  school  of  poetic  drama  in 
England  or  America  to-day.  I  shall  be  glad  to  find  my- 
self mistaken.  I  should  like  to  think  it  possible  that  a 
body  of  Yale  and  Harvard  students  will  prove  me  to  be 
wholly  wrong  in  my  estimate  of  the  dramatic  harvest  of 
the  next  two  generations  ;  but  I  can  only  discourage  any 
American  student  who  wishes  to  be  a  dramatist  from 
using  blank  verse  as  his  instrument.  I  discourage  him, 
because  I  know  that  if  there  is  in  Yale  or  Harvard  to- 
day any  dauntless  soul  who  is  resolved  to  win  the  un- 
attainable prize  of  poetic  drama,  he  will  most  rightly 
despise  and  defy  my  counsel  and  go  straight  on  to  his 
goal  I  can  only  wish  him  Godspeed  on  what  seems  to 
me  a  forlorn  hope. 

At  present,  then,  only  two  reasons  can  be  clearly  dis- 
cerned for  producing  modern  poetic  plays  in  England 
and  America.  They  enable  our  actors  to  spend  thousands 
of  pounds  in  scenery  and  costumes,  and  by  this  means 


58     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

to  "  elevate  the  drama  "  for  the  benefit  of  a  populace  who 
are  to  some  extent  judges  of  scenery  and  costumes,  but 
who  confessedly  are  no  judges  whatever  of  literature  or 
poetry.  They  also  have  the  further  advantage,  that  they 
set  free  the  dramatist  from  the  ceaseless  worry  and 
drudgery  of  studying  the  lives  and  characters  of  the  real 
living  men  and  women  around  him.  These  seem  to  me 
the  only  reasons  for  cultivating  the  poetic  drama  in  the 
present  state  of  Anglo-American  civilization. 

Having  then  dashed  your  hopes  of  founding  a  living 
school  of  national  drama  upon  the  romantic  costume 
play,  and  upon  the  imitation  Elizabethan  blank-verse 
play,  you  will  ask  me  :  "  What  kind  of  play  is  likely  to 
fulfil  the  two  necessary  conditions,  that  is,  to  be  at  the 
same  time  operative  and  successful  on  our  modern  stage, 
and  also  to  take  permanent  rank  as  literature  ?  You  have 
told  us  what  to  avoid.     Now,  tell  us  what  to  pursue." 

I  daresay  many  of  you  will  remember  a  fine  piece  of 
true  drama  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress.  I  mean  the  trial 
scene  of  Christian  and  Faithful  at  Vanity  Fair.  Bunyan 
was  a  born  dramatist.  What  is  the  hall-mark  of  the 
dramatist  ?  '  What  is  the  sure  sign  whereby  you  may 
always  distinguish  the  dramatist  from  the  humorist,  the 
satirist,  the  farceur,  the  parodist,  who  also  have  their 
secondary  places  on  the  stage,  and  are  welcome  so  far  as 
they  entertain  us.  The  sure  sign  of  the  dramatist  is  the 
instant  presentation  and  revelation  of  character  in  action, 
by  means  of  bare  dialogue.  The  dramatist  makes  his 
characters  think,  speak,  act,  live  for  themselves  and  for 
their  own  aims.  The  characters  of  the  humorist,  the 
satirist,  the  parodist,  speak  not  their  own  words,  but  the 
author's ;  they  are  mere  masks  from  behind  which  you 
always  hear  the  author  speaking ;  they  walk  the  stage, 
not  for  their  own  aims,  but  for  the  author's.  In  the 
drama  you  should  never  hear  the  author  speaking.  If 
he  wishes  to  speak  in  propria  persona  he  should  do  as  I 
have  done  to-night — gather  round  him  a  crowd  of  good- 
natured  persons  and  lecture  them,  so  that  he  may  keep 


LITERATURE  AND  THE  MODERN   DRAMA     59 

silence  in  his  own  work.  It  is  better  for  a  dramatist  to 
keep  silence  in  his  work  than  on  his  work. 

Robert  Burns  was  a  potential  dramatist.  Read 
Holy  Willie's  Prayer — it  is  not  Burns  speaking,  it  is 
Holy  Willie  himself  exuding  the  genuine  oily  drivel  and 
brimstone  of  the  conventicle,^  Bunyan  had  a  great 
dramatic  faculty.  All  through  his  allegories  you  will 
find  instances  of  most  vivid  and  direct  presentation 
of  character  in  dialogue.  If  you  will  read  the  scene  I 
have  mentioned— the  trial  scene  in  Vanity  Fair — you 
will  find  it  a  masterly  little  tragi-comic  drama  in 
miniature.  The  personages  talk  the  exact  talk  of  the 
day ;  short,  apt,  striking,  colloquial  sentences,  nearly 
every  one  of  which  goes  straight  home,  and  would  get 
a  roar  of  laughter  if  the  scene  were  played  by  accom- 
plished comedians  in  our  own  theatre  to-day.  The 
truculent  judge  is  a  gem  of  character.  This  imperish- 
able piece  of  dramatic  literature  was  written,  not  by 
a  man  of  letters,  but  by  a  travelling  tinker.  How 
many  hundreds  of  laboured  poetic  dramas  have  been 
played  and  have  been  forgotten  since  that  was  written  ? 

Bunyan  got  his  material,  not  from  library  shelves,  not 
from  the  past,  but  quick  and  alive  from  the  world  of  living 
men  around  him.  That  is  where  you  must  begin  to  get 
your  national  American  drama  from,  if  you  are  to  have 
a  living  drama  at  all.  Perhaps  you  will  think,  "  Then  we 
have  only  to  go  out  into  the  streets,  into  the  hotels,  into 
the  stores,  and  write  down  what  we  see  and  hear,  and 
make  it  up  into  a  play."  No,  you  will  not  got  any  very 
worthy  play  in  that  way.  You  will  merely  get  a  more  or 
less  interesting  catalogue  of  facts  and  speeches— at  best 
something  akin  to  a  photograph  or  a  phonograph.  All 
your  materials  must  be  sifted,  and  selected,  and  shaped, 
and  transformed  by  the  imagination  into  something 
rich  and  strange ;  into  something  impossible,  yet  most 

^  Stevenson  says  of  Burns :  "  He  was  among  the  least  impersonal  of 
artists.  Except  in  the  '  Jolly  Beggars '  he  shows  no  gleam  of  dramatic 
instinct." 


6o    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

credible,  most  veritable  ;  into  something  that  never  was 
and  never  will  be,  and  is  yet  more  real  than  anything 
that  has  ever  happened  on  this  earth.  And  the  ore  from 
which  this  golden  thing  of  beauty  is  to  be  extracted  is 
lying  in  apparently  useless  heaps  at  your  very  doors. 

Recall  the  fine  sentence  from  Mr.  Brander  Matthews 
that  I  quoted  at  the  beginning  of  my  lecture:  "Only 
literature  is  permanent."  If  your  drama  is  to  live,  it 
must  be  literature.  But  the  same  truth  may  be  put  in  a 
converse  form:  "If  your  drama  is  truly  alive,  it  will 
necessarily  be  literature."  If  you  have  faithfully  and 
searchingly  studied  your  fellow-citizens ;  if  you  have 
selected  from  amongst  them  those  characters  that  are 
interesting  in  themselves,  and  that  also  possess  an  endur- 
ing human  interest;  if  in  studying  these  interesting  per- 
sonalities, you  have  severely  selected  from  the  mass  of 
their  sayings  and  doings  and  impulses,  those  words  and 
deeds  and  tendencies  which  mark  them  at  once  as  in- 
dividuals and  as  types  ;  if  you  have  then  recast  and  re- 
imagined  all  the  materials  ;  if  you  have  cunningly  shaped 
them  into  a  story  of  progressive  and  cumulative  action  ; 
if  you  have  done  all  this,  though  you  may  not  have  used 
a  single  word  but  what  is  spoken  in  ordinary  American 
intercourse  to-day,  I  will  venture  to  say  that  you  have 
written  a  piece  of  live  American  literature — that  is,  you 
have  written  something  that  will  not  only  be  interesting 
on  the  boards  of  the  theatre,  but  can  be  read  with 
pleasure  in  your  library,  can  be  discussed,  argued  about, 
tasted  and  digested  as  literature.  And  it  seems  to  me 
that  this  is  the  type  of  play  you  should  start  to  write 
if  you  wish  some  day  to  have  a  worthy  school  of 
American  drama. 

In  some  respects  the  American  colloquial  language 
is  perhaps  to-day  a  better  instrument  for  this  purely 
realistic  class  of  play  than  the  English  colloquial 
language.  A  greater  number  of  your  population  are 
dealing  more  directly  with  realities  ;  hence  your  speech 
is  more  racy;    it  has  more  present  bite  and  sting;   it 


LITERATURE  AND  THE   MODERN    DRAMA    6i 

swarms  with  lusty  young  idioms.  We  are  constantly 
importing  from  you,  bright  curt  phrases  and  metaphors 
struck  oft  red-hot  in  the  common  mint  of  the  workshop, 
or  the  mine,  or  the  factory. 

At  present  and  until  you  have  developed  a  distinc- 
tive national  American  literature,  it  seems  to  me  that 
your   own   modern   colloquial   language   is   the  fitting, 
nay,  the  only  vehicle  for   a   national  American  drama. 
And  for  a  long  generation  to  come  your  national  drama 
will   be   mainly   a  purely   realistic   one.       And   of   all 
characters   in   the   world   for   an   American    dramatist, 
surely   present-day   Americans   are    heaven-sent    ideal 
personages   for   him   to   study   and    people    his    plays 
withal.     A  dramatist,  a  novelist,  is  never  so  eff"ective,  so 
life-like,  so  truly  creative  as  when  he  is  drawing  the  in- 
habitants  of  his   own   village,   his   own   city,  his  own 
circle ;  the  men  and  women  whom  he  lived  amongst  in 
his  youth,  and  unconsciously  studied  when  his  memory 
was   fresh,    and   vivid,    and   impressionable.     Compare 
George   Eliot's   portraits   in   the   "  Scenes   of   Clerical 
Life,"  "Adam  Bede,"  and  "Silas  Marner  "  with  some  of 
the  intolerable  personages  in  "  Daniel  Deronda,"  written 
after  the   critics  had   told   her  most   truly,   but    most 
disastrously,  that  she  was   a  great  genius.     The   self- 
conscious  ex  officio  production  of  masterpieces  is  often  a 
terribly  wearisome  and  unprofitable  business  both  for 
author  and   reader,      I    repeat,    your    own    American 
streets  and  drawing-rooms,  and  tramcars,  and  prairies, 
are  the  only  possible  recruiting  ground  for  the  present- 
day  American  drama.     As  for  the  poetic  drama,  let  it 
rest  awhile.     Let   me   beg  your   rising    dramatists   to 
"  cross   out   those   immensely  overpaid   accounts,   that 
matter  of  Troy  and  Achilles'  wrath,"  and  set  to  work  in 
the  fresher,  busier  sphere,  the  wide,  untried  domain  that 
awaits  and  demands  them. 

And  surely  America  is  a  most  tempting  sphere  for 
an  American  dramatist.  I  think,  guest  and  stranger  as 
I  am,  I  think  I  can  detect  little  American  weaknesses 


62    FOUNDATIONS    OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

and  foibles  and  follies— nay,  I  will  say  characteristic 
American  vices,  peeping  out  here  and  there  at  your 
shirt  sleeves,  from  between  your  waistcoat  folds,  and 
especially  sticking  out  from  that  pocket  where  you  keep 
your  pigskin  dollar  note  purse.  Yes,  Madam,  and  I 
fancy  I  spy  them  straying  from  under  your  picture  hat, 
and  flickering  around  the  sparklets  of  that  diamond 
necklace,  and  peeping  in  and  out  with  the  pretty  toecaps 
of  your  elegant  American  kid  boots.  As  I  walk  your 
streets  and  ride  in  your  tramcars,  and  read  your  journals, 
and  try  to  fathom  your  politics,  I  fancy  I  hear  airy 
tongues  calling  out  to  your  American  playwrights  in 
some  such  syllables  as  these :  "  Here's  a  delightful 
display  of  American  greed  and  purse-proud  egotism 
and  bad  manners.  Snapshot  it !  Look  at  that  horribly 
grotesque  piece  of  American  prudery  !  Tear  its  mask 
off!  Come  here  !  Watch  this  morsel  of  feminine  affecta- 
tion and  vanity  coming  tripping  down  the  street.  It's 
feminine,  so  deal  gently  with  it,  but  don't  let  it  escape 
you.  Hush !  Here's  a  great  show !  All  our  brother 
Pharisees  and  brother  hypocrites  swelling  visibly  with 
windy  religious  platitudes  !  Watch  them  as  they  troop 
into  church — yes,  and  into  the  best  seats,  too !  Stick  a 
pin,  point  upwards,  in  their  soft  cushions  !  Ah,  look  at 
that  loud  empty  piece  of  brazen  bluff!  Have  you  shamed 
it  down?  Then,  hurry  here,  and  see  what  a  lump  of 
bloated  greed  and  filthy  chicanery  has  enthroned  him- 
self in  the  chief  seat  of  your  market  place  !  Are  these 
your  gods,  O  Israel  ?  Arrest  him  !  Hale  him  to  the 
pillory  of  the  stage !  Gibbet  him  for  the  delight  and 
warning  of  American  audiences  !" 

I  hope  you  will  not  think  that  in  speaking  thus  plainly, 
I  have  overstepped  the  limits  of  courtesy  which  I  laid 
out  for  myself  in  starting.  I  think  you  must  have  per- 
ceived that  throughout  this  latter  part  of  my  lecture  I 
have  been  advancing  the  strongest  plea  on  behalf  of 
my  brother  American  playwrights — that  the  American 
stage   should   be   first   and   mainly   occupied  with   the 


LITERATURE  AND  THE   MODERN   DRAMA    6^ 

representation  of  American  life  and  character,  American 
manners  and  modes  of  thought. 

I  have  a  great  love  for  France,  for  her  people  ;  for  her 
fine  manners  ;  for  her  clear,  logical  method  ;  for  all  that 
wise  encouragement  of  literature  and  the  arts  which  will 
assure  her  a  future  place  in  universal  esteem  akin  to  that 
which  Greece  holds  to-day.  Above  all,  I  have  an  immense 
admiration  for  the  French  drama.  But  I  have  constantly 
protested  that  the  business  of  the  English  theatre  is  not 
to  exhibit  absurd  emasculated  adaptations  of  French 
plays,  where  all  the  characters,  all  the  situations,  all  the 
manners,  all  the  morality,  all  the  modes  of  thought,  all 
the  views  of  life,  are  fantastic  hybrids  and  are  therefore 
incurably  sterile.  Now,  although  the  differences  and 
difficulties  between  France  and  England  in  all  that 
relates  to  the  interchange  of  plays  are  enormously 
greater  and  more  insurmountable  than  the  differences 
and  difficulties  between  England  and  America,  yet  the 
same  reasons  are  to  be  urged  against  the  unregulated 
and  wholesale  importation  of  modern  English  plays 
into  America,  and  American  plays  into  England. 

I  shall  be  credited  with  speaking  from  some  subtle 
interested  motive  here.  When  I  speak  or  write  about 
the  drama  in  England,  I  am  always  credited  with  some 
unworthy  interested  motive ;  it  being  a  thing  incredible, 
unheard  of,  that  a  man  who  practises  an  art  should  have 
the  honesty  to  speak  about  it  exactly  as  he  thinks  and 
feels  without  some  selfish  ulterior  motive.  I  will  ask 
you,  and  I  will  ask  my  English  friends  also,  not  to  seek 
for  any  underhand  motive  in  what  I  am  saying,  for  I 
have  none ;  my  only  motive  in  standing  here  is  this — 
that  you,  having  done  me  the  honour  to  ask  me  to  speak 
here  about  the  modern  drama,  I  do  you  the  common 
justice  to  tell  you  what  I  feel  to  be  the  exact  truth. 

I  believe  the  French  drama  and  French  acting  to  be 
immeasurably  on  a  higher  level  than  the  English  drama 
and  English  acting  at  the  present  moment.  That  is  no 
reason  why  English  playwrights  should  be  the  lackeys 


64    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

and  underlings  of  French  playwrights.  It  is  a  reason  for 
English  playwrights  and  actors  and  critics  and  playgoers 
to  set  diligently  to  work — not  to  adapt  and  emasculate 
French  playwrights,  but  to  encourage  and  develop  their 
own  native  art.  The  same  reason  should  rule  the  trans- 
plantation of  plays  from  England  to  America,  and  from 
America  to  England.  As  I  have  always  urged  that  the 
first  business  of  the  English  drama  is  to  represent 
modern  English  life  and  character,  and  to  move  respon- 
sively  to  English  civilization,  so  I  equally  urge  that  the 
main  business  of  the  American  drama  and  the  American 
theatre  is  to  represent  American  life  and  character,  and 
to  move  responsively  to  American  civilization. 

This  is  the  law  that  must  govern  the  development  ot 
the  national  drama  in  any  country.  Subject  to  it  is  the 
question  of  the  translation  and  adaptation  of  foreign 
plays.  When  a  play  either  by  reason  of  the  strength  or 
the  originality  of  its  story,  the  power  of  its  character 
drawing,  or  the  depth  of  its  philosophy,  is  of  permanent 
and  universal  interest,  it  should  be  quite  faithfully,  and, 
so  far  as  possible,  quite  literally  translated ;  all  its  scenes 
and  all  its  characters  being  left  in  their  native  country. 
A  modern  play  should  never  be  adapted  except  for  two 
good  and  sufficient  reasons — the  first  one  being  when  its 
scheme,  or  some  part  of  its  scheme,  suggests  to  a  foreign 
dramatist  that  it  may  be  so  altered  and  strengthened  as 
to  be  made  into  a  better,  that  is  into  what  is  virtually  an 
original  play.  The  only  other  good  reason  for  adaptation 
arises  when  a  strong,  sincere  French  play  can  be  bought 
cheaply  by  an  English  manager,  and  being  emasculated 
and  sentimentalized  into  nonsense  by  a  cheap  adapter, 
can  then  be  put  upon  the  English  stage  to  the  great 
glory  and  gain  of  the  manager.  The  play  then  becomes 
a  bulwark  of  British  morality,  and  the  manager  becomes 
worthy  of  a  title. 

These  are  the  laws  that  govern  the  translation  and 
adaptation  of  foreign  plays.  But  it  may  be  noted  that 
England  and  America,  having  so  much  that  is  common 


LITERATURE   AND  THE  MODERN   DRAMA    65 

in  their  language,  their  manners,  their  laws,  their  philo- 
sophy, and  their  religions,  there  will  doubtless  always 
be  a  much  nearer  relationship  between  them  in  the 
drama  than  between  any  other  two  nations.  There  will 
always  be  a  great  number  of  plays  that  can  be  readily 
transplanted  and  enjoyed. 

Throughout  this  lecture  I  have  spoken  of  the  English 
drama,  the  Anglo-American  drama,  the  American  drama 
in  a  way  that  I  fear  has  been  confusing.  But  the  con- 
fusion exists  in  the  subject  itself,  and  not  in  my  handling 
of  it. 

How  far  are  the  American  and  English  drama  distinct 
from  each  other?    At  present  each  nation  may  be  said 
to  have  in  some  sort  a  distinct  drama,  and  a  distinct 
theatre  of  its  own.     And  yet  in  everything  that  counts 
as  the   best  dramatic  art  the  two  nations  are   to-day 
almost   as   one    community.      I   hope   this    kinship    of 
thought  and  interest  in  the  drama  will  endure  and  will 
be  strengthened.     I  would  like  to  think  that  a  common 
drama  will  be  one  of  the  strongest  links  between  the 
two  nations  in  future  generations.     You  are  a  cosmo- 
politan   nation.     From   happy  experience   I  can    affirm 
that   you   are  a  generously  receptive   nation  :  "  Recep- 
tivity," says  George  Eliot,  "is  a  massive  quality."     It  is 
not  only  generous  to  be  receptive ;  it  is  wise.     You  are 
wisely  receptive  of  foreign  art.     I  have  just  counselled 
you  to  make  it  your  chief  business  to  forge  and  hammer 
out  a  distinctive  national  American  drama  for  yourselves 
subject  to  the  laws  I  have  stated.     I  now  ask  you,  for 
your  own  sake,  to  continue  to  keep  an  open  door,  and  a 
warm  corner  for  distinctively  English  plays  and  English 
actors.     For,  I  believe,  we  can  teach  you  something  in 
technique  and  finish.     Take  our  technique  and  use  it  as 
a  frame  for  your  own  living  American  men  and  women. 
You  see  I  return  to  the  subject  of  your  own  living 
national   drama.      Forgive   me    if    I   have    broken    my 
promise,  if  I  have  been  betrayed  into  speaking  dicta- 
torially  and  controversially,  if  I  have  disputed  at  the 


66    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

table  of  my  hosts,  if  I  have  arraigned  and  argued  where 
I  ought  only  to  have  returned  thanks.  When  I  accepted 
Professor  Phelps'  kind  invitation  to  speak  here,  two 
courses  were  open  to  me.  I  could  have  strung  together 
a  chain  of  amiable  platitudes  about  the  drama  which 
would  neither  have  offended  anybody,  nor  have  thrown 
any  light  upon  the  subject.  My  other  course  was  to 
speak  out  exactly  what  I  felt,  in  the  hope  that  some 
word  of  mine  might  be  of  service  to  you  in  building  up 
a  school  of  American  drama,  and  that  I  might  stimulate 
your  thoughts  and  actions  to  that  end.  For  I  believe 
that  some  such  idea  is  nascent  in  America  to-day,  some 
such  "  glorious,  great  intent,"  which  will  not  be  allowed 
to  miscarry  and  fall  to  the  ground. 

How  long  will  the  present  relationship  in  the  drama 
continue  between  England  and  America?  Doubtless 
the  present  interchange  and  transhipment  of  plays  and 
actors  across  the  Atlantic  will,  with  some  modifications, 
last  out  the  lives  of  most  of  us  here  to-day.  But  what 
about  the  future,  the  not  very  distant  future,  in  respect 
of  the  lives  of  our  two  nations  ? 

No  stranger  who  has  visited  your  great  cities  can 
fail  to  be  deeply  impressed  by  the  spectacle  of  the  swift 
and  enormous  development  of  a  new  type  of  civilization. 
If  that  stranger  knows  England  well,  he  cannot  avoid 
making  comparisons  between  the  two  countries.  And 
taking  a  wide  impartial  view,  I  think  any  candid  observer 
must  be  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  the  American 
continent  tends  to  develop  not  only  at  a  very  different 
rate  of  speed  from  England,  but  also  in  widely  different 
directions.     What  does  this  mean  ? 

It  means  that,  either  the  older  nation  will  drop  behind 
on  a  different  track,  or  that  the  younger  and  more  im- 
petuous nation  will  drag  the  older  nation  headlong  with 
it,  wherever  it  goes.  On  our  side  we  hear  plaintive 
blcatings  about  the  Americanization  of  our  institutions. 
An  Englishman  must  sympathize  with  these  bleatings, 
must  sometimes  bleat.     At  the  same   time,  we   cannot 


LITERATURE  AND  THE   MODERN   DRAMA    67 

help  watching  this  fascinating,  stupendous,  clattering 
engine  of  American  democracy,  with  all  of  you  so  busy 
steaming  and  stoking  it — we  cannot  help  watching  it 
and  wondering,  wondering  where  it  is  going,  and  what 
will  be  its  future  history.  At  any  rate,  it  is  certain  that 
it  is  creating  a  new  type  of  civilization,  a  new  national 
character,  with  new  national  ideals  and  modes  of  thought. 
Incidentally,  it  also  means  a  change  in  dress,  habits,  and 
ceremonies;  in  all  those  thousand  details  and  minutiae 
of  every-day  life  which  makes  up  so  large  a  part  of  the 
furnishing  of  our  modern  realistic  plays. 

It  means  more  than  this — it  means  the  gradual  evolu- 
tion of  a  new  branch  of  the  English  language.  You 
will  notice  that  I  have  once  or  twice  used  the  term 
"American  language"  in  this  lecture.  I  think  you  may 
already  claim  in  some  sort  to  have  an  American  language. 
I  daresay  many  of  you  will  remember  that  early  in  the 
eighteenth  century  such  scholars  as  Swift  and  Bentley 
thought  that  the  English  language  had  arrived  at  the 
exact  point  where  it  might  be  fixed  and  made  definite 
for  ever.  Swift  actually  made  proposals  to  that  effect. 
That  was  before  Darwin.  No  scholar  could  make  such 
a  proposal  to-day.  It  is  amusing  and  instructive  to 
notice  that  some  of  the  slang  words  reviled  by  Swift 
are  now  old  and  respected  tenants  of  all  our  dictionaries. 
That  the  present  evolution  of  [the  American  continent 
does  imply  the  evolution  of  a  more  or  less  distinct 
American  language  cannot,  I  think,  be  doubted.  And 
this,  in  its  turn,  implies  the  evolution  of  some  new  form 
of  American  drama.  What  will  the  future  American 
language  be  like,  the  language  in  which  you  will  be 
writing  your  telegrams  and  your  dramas  four  or  five 
generations  to  come? 

It  must  always  be  the  highest  conscious  aim  of  any 
civilization  to  provide  a  large,  dignified,  humane,  intel- 
lectual existence  for  the  greatest  possible  number  of  its 
citizens.  So  far  as  this  is  possible  to  large  classes 
amongst  you,  so  far  will  your  new  language  be  a  fit 


6^    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

instrument  for  a  school  of  drama  correspondingly  large, 
dignified,  intellectual,  humane. 

Prophecy  and  forecast  are  not  always  gratuitous 
blunders ;  they  are  sometimes  practical  and  helpful.  A 
word  spoken  by  a  single  person  in  Europe  might  at  any 
moment  usher  in  events  that  would  entirely  displace  the 
present  Anglo-American  and  Anglo-Colonial  relation- 
ships, and  draw  undreamed-of  sequences  into  our 
common  civilization,  our  common  language,  and  our 
common  drama.  Who  can  help  sometimes  throwing  an 
anxious  look  into  the  distant  future,  and  breathing  the 
wish  of  the  dying  Henry  the  Fourth ; 

Oh  God  !     that  one  might  read  the  book  of  Fate 

And  see  the  revolution  of  the  times, 

Make  mountains  level,  and  the  continent, 

Weary  of  solid  firmness,  melt  itself 

Into  the  sea  !     And  other  times  to  see 

The  beachy  girdle  of  the  ocean 

Too  wide  for  Neptune's  hips ;  how  chances  mock 

And  changes  fill  the  cup  of  alteration 

With  divers  liquors. 

With  this  large  thought  in  our  minds,  with  this 
questioning  wonder  of  the  future  haunting  us,  it  is  im- 
possible for  an  Englishman,  especially  an  Englishman 
who  has  been  so  generously  welcomed  and  honoured  in 
America  as  I  have  been,  it  is  impossible  for  him  not  to 
wish  your  country  a  very  high  and  noble  destiny,  bound 
up  so  far  as  may  be  possible  and  expedient  with  the 
destiny,  the  civilization,  the  language,  and  also  with  the 
drama  of  his  own  country. 


IV 

THE   AIMS   AND    DUTIES   OF   A   NATIONAL   THEATRE 

A  lecture  delivered  at  the  Columbia  University,  on  the  afternoon 
of  Thursday,  January  26th,  191 1.  Chairman,  Professor  Brander 
Matthews. 

With  more  generosity  than  discretion  our  chairman  has 
vacated  his  pulpit  in  my  favour  this  afternoon.  I  think 
myself  a  most  courageous  man  to  stand  here  and  speak 
on  his  own  subject  before  so  fine  a  student  and  critic  of 
the  drama.  I  am  most  heartily  in  accord  with  him  upon 
all  the  fundamental  principles  and  doctrines  that  form 
the  staple  of  his  teaching  here.  Especially  do  I  give  my 
fast  adherence  to  his  constant  claim  that  the  drama  is 
first  of  all  a  popular  art ;  that  it  must  be  primarily 
addressed  not  to  students,  to  dilettanti,  to  coteries,  to 
superior  persons,  but  to  the  populace  of  its  day ;  that 
in  so  far  as  it  is  literature,  it  must  be  literature  that  is 
understood  of  the  multitude ;  that  even  the  greatest  and 
most  profound  dramatist  must  also  be  a  popular  play- 
wright of  his  day ;  may,  indeed,  even  be  the  hack  play- 
wright of  his  theatre,  as  were  Shakespeare  and  Moliere; 
to  sum  up — that  the  drama  is  like  religion,  an  affair  of 
the  whole  people. 

I  should  not  care  to  address  you  on  any  subject  that 
Mr.  Brander  Matthews  had  made  his  own.  I  do  not 
think  that  he  has  exhaustively  treated  the  subject  of  a 
National  Theatre.  I  approach  it  myself  before  this 
audience  with  great  hesitation  and  reluctance.  Not  that 
my  ideas  are  at  all  doubtful,  or  hasty,  or  indefinite. 
Indeed,  I  think  you  will  find  them  very  clear  and  con- 
crete. I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  for  speaking  what  I 
feel  to  be  the  truth.    I  will  deal  quite  plainly  and  simply 

69 


70    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

with  you ;  and  so  far  as  I  can,  I  will  avoid  all  direct 
affirmation,  or  magisterial  utterance.  I  will  try  to  get 
at  the  truth  of  the  matter  by  suggestion,  and  hint,  and 
inquiry ;  leaving  you  to  find  your  own  answers  to  the 
questions  I  shall  raise. 

When  I  was  in  Boston  four  years  ago,  I  offered,  in 
the  exhilaration  caused  by  a  friendly  banquet,  to  wager 
fifty  to  one  that  America  would  have  a  National  Theatre 
before  England.  My  wager  was  not  accepted,  so  obvious 
was  it  that  America  would  be  the  first  to  have  what  may 
be  called  a  National  Theatre.  Well,  you  have  it,  a 
beautiful,  dignified  building  that  is  an  ornament  to  your 
city,  and  a  testimony  to  the  princely  munificence  of  its 
founders.  Unfortunately  a  National  Theatre  is  not  a 
National  Drama.  We  will  inquire  how  far  your  present 
theatre,  or  any  theatre  you  may  raise,  is  a  help  or  a  hin- 
drance to  your  main  purpose  when  we  have  first  inquired 
what  your  purpose  was  and  is. 

It  cannot  be  supposed  that  a  number  of  the  shrewd- 
est men  of  the  shrewdest  nation  of  the  world  combined 
to  spend  vast  sums  in  an  enterprise  without  some  notion 
of  what  that  enterprise  was  intended  to  further  and 
accomplish.  What  was  the  purpose  of  building  this 
magnificent  theatre,  and  lavishing  these  vast  sums  to 
keep  it  working? 

Conceivably,  two  different  answers  could  be  given. 
One  is:  "The  design  of  the  enterprise  was  to  cultivate 
a  very  delicate,  refined,  exclusive  dramatic  art  that 
should  give  a  social  pleasure  to  the  upper  class,  some- 
thing akin  to  the  opera." 

But  if  that  answer  were  the  right  one,  obviously 
you  would  be  almost  entirely  dependent  upon  foreign 
sources.  For  you  have  no  repertory  of  American  social 
drama  that  could  adequately  supply  you  with  a  pleasure 
of  that  sort.  And,  therefore,  the  native  American  drama 
would  be  virtually  shut  out  from  the  National  Theatre. 
Besides,  such  a  scheme  would  be  quite  foreign  to  the 
national  American  spirit. 


AIMS  AND  DUTIES  OF  NATIONAL  THEATRE  71 

The  other  answer,  which  would  probably  be  the 
right  one,  would  be  in  some  such  words  as  these : 
"  The  design  of  the  enterprise  was  to  raise  the  level  of 
the  drama  in  America,  and  foster  a  school  of  national 
drama," 

Unless  I  am  supplied  with  another  explanation,  I 
will  assume  that  answer  to  be  the  right  one.  But  it  is 
an  answer  which,  stated  in  such  general  terms,  really 
says  no  more  than  that  you  have  very  good  intentions. 
Let  us  inquire  very  carefully  what  raising  the  level  of 
the  drama  in  America  specifically  means,  and  what 
fostering  a  national  drama  specifically  means  in  your 
present  circumstances. 

We  have  adopted  Mr.  Brander  Matthews'  cardinal 
maxim  that  the  drama  must  always  be  a  popular  art,  an 
affair  of  the  entire  people,  sweeping  through  all  ranks 
like  an  epidemic.  It  must  be  that,  first  and  foremost. 
But  if  it  is  to  have  any  more  value,  or  meaning,  or  in- 
fluence than  a  Punch  and  Judy  show,  or  a  dime  museum, 
if  it  is  at  all  worth  spending  thought  and  money  upon, 
the  drama  must  be  much  more  than  that.  If  it  is  to  be 
merely  a  popular  entertainment,  why  trouble  to  foster 
it  and  spend  huge  sums  upon  it?  There  are  plenty  of 
crowded  theatres  in  New  York  and  London  to-day.  Be 
sure  that  our  dear  public  will  always  take  good  care  to 
be  amused.  If  that  is  all  the  drama  means  and  is,  it  is 
surely  best  left  alone. 

But,  it  will  be  replied,  this  enterprise  was  started  in 
the  idea  that  the  drama  does,  or  should  mean  some- 
thing more  than  an  empty  amusement,  or  an  empty 
sensation  for  the  multitude ;  a  thing  that  catches  on  for 
a  few  months,  or  a  few  years,  and  then  perishes  without 
respect. 

What,  then,  should  a  national  drama  be  in  addition 
to  being  a  mere  popular  amusement?  What  virtue 
should  it  possess  besides  that  of  immediately  catching 
and  amusing  the  crowd  ? 

Mr.  Brander  Matthews  shall  again  supply  us  with 


n    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

an  answer.  He  has  summed  it  up  in  a  single  sentence 
that  I  have  quoted  to  your  sister  university :  "  Only 
literature  is  permanent." 

Those  countries  and  those  periods  that  have  pro- 
duced a  national  drama  are  those  countries  and  those 
periods  where  and  when  literature  and  the  drama  have 
been  allied ;  where  plays  that  were  popular  in  the 
theatre  could  be  also  read  and  enjoyed  as  literature. 
This  explains  the  rarity  and  intermittency  of  national 
dramatic  periods. 

In  England  we  have  a  great  continuous  stream  of 
literature  from  Chaucer  downwards,  filling  all  the 
reaches  of  poetry,  philosophy,  divinity,  biography, 
criticism,  history,  fiction,  and  science.  But  after  the 
great  Shakespearian  period,  when  the  common  man  in 
the  innyard  feasted  on  Macbeth  and  Hamlet  as  eagerly 
as  the  common  man  to-day  feasts  on  some  musical  or 
farcical  inanity — after  that  period  we  have  only  the 
brilliant  comedy  of  the  Restoration,  and  some  occasional 
shoot  or  flicker  of  literary  drama.  The  one  necessary 
condition  has  been  absent.  Literature  and  the  theatre 
have  not  met  together;  the  playgoer  and  the  man  of 
letters  have  not  kissed  each  other;  they  have  scarcely 
been  on  speaking  terms. 

In  France  it  has  been  otherwise.  For  two  centuries 
and  a  half  there  has  been  an  alliance  between  literature 
and  the  drama.  Every  man  of  letters  is  almost  neces- 
sarily a  man  of  the  theatre.  Hence  great  traditions  of 
authorship  have  been  established  in  the  theatre,  and 
hence  the  average  playgoer  can  find  amusement  and 
delight  in  plays  that  are  also  pieces  of  literature.  Hence 
playgoing  means  something  more  than  merely  running 
to  see  the  pretty  face  of  a  favourite  star,  or  the  funny 
tricks  of  a  comedian.  Hence,  also,  there  is  a  habit  of 
reading  modern  plays — a  habit  I  take  to  be  at  once  the 
sign  and  the  security  of  a  modern  national  drama.  In 
any  country  where  literature  and  the  drama  were  in 
alliance,  three-fourths  of  our  most  successful  plays  in 


AIMS  AND  DUTIES  OF  NATIONAL  THEATRE  n 

England  and  America  would  never  be  heard  of.  The 
other  fourth  would  be  tolerated  and  smiled  at  as  harm- 
less nonsense  or  sensation. 

Therefore,  if  you  ask  what  was  the  real  design  of  the 
magnificent  enterprise  started  two  years  ago,  it  must 
have  been  this:  "To  bring  about  an  alliance  between 
literature  and  the  drama  in  America."  Most  likely  this 
exact  formula  was  not  present  in  the  mind  of  any  of 
those  who  founded  that  enterprise.  But  will  any  other 
formula  express  a  worthy,  or  even  a  possible  way  of 
raising  the  level  of  the  drama  in  America,  and  of  fostering 
a  school  of  national  drama  ?  I  define  literature  briefly 
as  "  that  part  of  what  a  people  reads  which  remains 
a  permanent  possession  to  them,  and  does  not  grow  old 
or  stale." 

When  you  translate  the  vague  idea  of  "  raising  the 
level  of  the  drama  in  America  and  fostering  a  school 
of  national  drama"  into  a  definite  scheme,  it  can  mean 
nothing  more  or  less  than  bringing  the  drama  into 
alliance  with  literature.  Try  to  conceive  any  other 
way  of  raising  the  level  of  the  drama,  and  you  will 
only  imagine  some  quite  unworthy,  vulgar,  futile  or 
transitory  plan,  doomed  quickly  to  end  in  ridicule  and 
oblivion.  This  alliance  between  the  drama  and  litera- 
ture is  then  your  only  possible  aim  and  goal.  You 
mean  that  America  shall  make  a  contribution  to  the 
stock  of  the  world's  dramatic  literature.  That  is  the 
enterprise  to  which  you  have  committed  yourselves, 
whether  you  are  conscious  of  it  or  no.  You  must  mean 
that,  or  you  mean  nothing  at  all. 

Where  this  alliance  between  the  drama  and  literature 
exists,  as  in  France  and  to  some  extent  in  Germany, 
the  theatre  is  indeed,  as  it  must  always  be,  a  popular 
pleasure  and  amusement;  but  it  is  so  on  higher  and 
different  grounds  from  the  grounds  on  which  the  theatre 
is  a  popular  pleasure  and  amusement  in  England  and  in 
America.  The  kind  of  pleasure  which  a  large  class  of 
playgoers  get  from  their  native  plays  in  those  countries 


74     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

is  quite  different  from  the  pleasure  which  the  majority 
of  theatregoers  in  England  and  America  get  from  their 
native  plays.  And  this  is  the  reason  that  French  people 
rightly  look  with  contempt  on  the  theatre  and  the  drama 
in  England  and  America.  This  is  the  reason  that  while 
the  English  and  American  stages  are  flooded  with  French 
plays,  no  English  or  American  play  of  any  serious 
literary  pretensions  is  ever  successful  in  Paris,  or  is 
ever  regarded  with  anything  more  than  a  polite,  good- 
natured  smile.  I  hope  then  that  you  will  concede  to 
me  that  the  only  way  of  raising  the  level  of  the  drama 
in  America  or  in  any  country  is  to  bring  it  into  alliance 
with  literature. 

Now,  let  us  go  further  and  inquire  what  are  the 
necessary  underlying  conditions  in  which  such  an 
alliance  can  be  brought  about.  In  what  soil,  in  what 
atmosphere,  can  a  drama  that  is  both  popular  and 
literary  be  made  to  grow  and  flower  ? 

I  have  glanced  at  our  great  English  literature,  the 
richest  and  fullest  the  world  has  ever  known.  But 
this  literature  is  itself  the  expression  of  a  rich  and 
varied  spiritual  and  intellectual  national  life ;  a  national 
life  where  there  has  always  been  a  large  surplus  of 
power  and  thought  and  leisure  available  for  the  pur- 
chase of  those  most  precious  things  that  cannot  be 
bought  with  money ;  a  national  life,  until  these  later 
generations,  always  homed  even  to  the  poorest  cottage, 
in  some  beautiful  and  remarkable  piece  of  architecture ; 
always  adorned  with  many  of  the  domestic,  and  with 
some  of  the  fine  arts  ;  always  providing  for  any  art,  so 
soon  as  a  mustard  seed  of  it  was  sown,  a  deep  warm 
alluvium  of  receptive  soil. 

Even  the  simplest  domestic  art,  the  art  of  making  a 
copper  kettle,  must  have  this  prepared  and  cultivated 
soil.  In  the  farmhouse  where  I  was  born  every 
utensil,  every  piece  of  crockery,  every  piece  of  furni- 
ture, was  a  thing  of  beauty.  You  would  give  a  great 
deal  of  money  for  it  in  your  curiosity  shops  to-day. 


AIMS  AND  DUTIES  OF  NATIONAL  THEATRE  75 

We  have  had  then  in  England  for  many  centuries 
the  necessary  underlying  conditions,  the  necessary  soil 
for  the  production  of  national  drama.  When,  in  addition 
to  these  underlying  conditions,  we  happened  to  get  the 
necessary  practical  condition,  when  popular  taste  in  the 
theatre  happened  to  jump  with  literature,  we  obtained 
specimens  of  national  drama  which  hold  the  English  and 
American  stage  to-day. 

We  are  perhaps  losing  many  of  the  necessary  con- 
ditions. But  I  have  faith  that  if  to-day  we  could  bring 
the  general  body  of  English  men  of  letters  to  some 
understanding  of  the  modern  theatre ;  if  we  could  win 
them  to  active  sympathy  and  co-operation  with  us ;  and 
if  we  could  establish  national  and  municipal  theatres 
and  support  them  until  they  won  popular  comprehension 
and  favour — if  we  could  do  these  things,  then  a  modern 
national  English  drama  would  quickly  and  spontaneously 
arise  in  my  country. 

It  is  a  most  difficult  task  that  lies  before  us  in 
England.  I  cannot  say  that  it  is  in  any  hopeful  way  of 
early  accomplishment.  Our  English  scheme  is  being 
tossed  to  and  fro  amongst  a  crowd  of  impracticable 
people  and  proposals,  and  we  are  likely  to  make  much 
laughter  for  the  ungodly  before  it  can  be  put  together 
and  made  to  work.  If  the  launching  of  a  National 
Theatre  in  New  York  has  been  followed  by  some  dis- 
appointment and  derision  and  a  sense  of  present  failure, 
there  is,  judging  from  the  present  outlook,  every  ground 
for  fearing  that  the  launching  of  a  National  Theatre  in 
London  will  be  followed  by  a  similar  dashing  of  hopes, 
and  a  similar  chorus  of  gratified  mockery.  On  neither 
side  of  the  Atlantic  does  the  great  ideal  of  a  literary 
national  drama  housed  in  a  national  theatre  and  raising 
the  whole  level  of  theatrical  entertainment  throughout 
the  country  to  some  moderate  level  of  rational  enjoy- 
ment— in  neither  England  nor  America  does  this  noble 
and  reasonable  ideal  appear  to  me  in  any  prospect  of 
any  immediate  fulfilment. 


^6    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

There  is  always  much  comfort  in  having  companions 
in  misfortune.  If  the  promoters  and  well-wishers  of 
a  National  Theatre  in  New  York  are  feeling  bruised 
and  sore  from  the  immediate  failure  of  their  enterprise, 
let  them  watch  the  progress  of  the  National  Theatre 
movement  in  England  and  take  cheer  in  the  thought 
that,  if  they  are  shipwrecked  on  lonely  shores  of  depre- 
ciation and  neglect,  a  sister  British  ship  is  steering 
straight  for  the  same  rocks.  They  will  soon  have 
companions  in  their  misery. 

Indeed,  in  building  up  a  great  national  enterprise 
of  this  kind  there  is  sure  to  be  much  confusion  and 
misunderstanding,  and  a  large  measure  of  failure  at  the 
outset. 

I  have  faith  that  in  England  our  task  may  be  ulti- 
mately accomplished  and  brought  to  a  successful  issue. 
But  this  is  not  possible  till  the  necessities  and  diffi- 
culties of  the  situation  are  clearly  seen  and  vigorously 
handled  by  men  of  insight,  judgment,  knowledge,  and 
authority.  Till  such  men  are  in  possession  and  guid- 
ance of  our  national  scheme  it  is  bound  to  fail.  Our 
best  hope  in  England  lies  in  the  fact  that  we  still  have 
underlying  conditions  in  our  national  life  that  are  in 
some  degree  favourable  to  the  enterprise.  I  have 
already  indicated  what  those  conditions  are. 

We  are  here  at  the  very  heart  of  this  whole  matter. 
If  you  do  not  accept  what  I  affirm  about  these  under- 
lying conditions,  this  prepared  soil,  as  the  first  neces- 
sity for  any  growth  of  worthy  national  drama,  then 
every  word  I  have  spoken  must  be  without  meaning 
or  effect. 

I  will  not  ask  you  to  accept  what  I  say.  I  will  stand 
aside,  and  call  in  the  master  mind  of  modern  Europe 
on  all  these  matters.  Let  me  quote  a  passage  from 
Goethe  which  I  will  beg  all  who  are  interested  in  this 
question  to  study  again  and  again  till  they  perceive 
how  great  a  bearing  it  has  upon  the  fostering  of  a 
national  drama     Goethe  says  : 


AIMS  AND  DUTIES  OF  NATIONAL  THEATRE  tj 

"  If  a  talent  is  to  be  speedily  and  happily  developed 
the  great  point  is  that  a  great  deal  of  intellect  and  sound 
culture  should  be  current  in  a  nation.  We  admire  the 
tragedies  of  the  ancient  Greeks,  but  we  ought  rather  to 
admire  the  period  and  the  nation  in  which  their  pro- 
duction was  possible  than  the  individual  authors  ;  for 
though  these  pieces  differ  a  little  from  one  another,  and 
though  one  of  these  poets  appears  somewhat  greater 
and  more  finished  than  the  others,  still  only  one  decided 
characteristic  runs  through  the  whole. 

"  This  is  the  characteristic  of  grandeur,  fitness,  sound- 
ness, human  perfection,  elevated  wisdom,  sublime 
thought,  pure  strong  intuition,  and  many  other  qualities 
that  one  might  indicate.  But  when  we  find  those  quali- 
ties not  only  in  the  dramatic  works  that  have  come 
down  to  us,  but  also  in  lyrical  and  epic  works ;  in  the 
philosophers ;  in  the  orators ;  in  the  historians ;  and  in 
an  equall}^  high  degree  in  the  works  of  plastic  art  that 
have  come  down  to  us,  we  must  feel  convinced  that 
such  qualities  did  not  merely  belong  to  individuals  but 
were  the  current  property  of  the  whole  nation  and  the 
whole  period.  Take  Robert  Burns :  how  is  he  great 
except  through  the  circumstance  that  the  whole  songs 
of  his  predecessors  lived  in  the  mouth  of  the  people — 
that  they  were  so  to  speak  sung  at  his  cradle ;  that  as 
a  boy  he  grew  up  amongst  them,  and  the  high  excellence 
of  these  models  so  pervaded  him  that  he  had  therein 
a  living  basis  on  which  he  could  proceed  further? 
Again,  why  is  he  great  but  from  this  fact  that  his  own 
songs  at  once  found  susceptible  ears  among  his  com- 
patriots, that  sung  by  reapers  and  sheaf-binders  they  at 
once  greeted  him  in  the  field,  and  that  his  boon  com- 
panions sang  them  to  welcome  him  at  the  ale-house?" 

Now  I  will  ask  you  to  say  how  far  these  underlying 
conditions  exist  in  your  American  national  life  to-day  ? 

In  the  arts  of  painting  and  sculpture  you  have  some 
great  modern  masters.  But  have  they  not  mainly 
derived  their  inspiration  and  their  m.astery  from  Euro- 
pean schools,  from  having  worked  in  a  prepared  soil  ? 

Painting  and  sculpture,  however,  stand  on  a  different 
basis  of  appreciation  from  the  drama.  The  judges  and 
patrons  of  painting  and  sculpture  in  any  country  are 


78     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

a  few  select  persons  with  a  more  or  less  trained  know- 
ledge of  those  arts.  The  primary  judges  and  patrons  of 
the  drama  in  New  York  are  just  the  average  swarms  in 
Broadway  ;  in  London  they  are  just  the  average  swarms 
in  the  Strand.  We  must  ever  keep  in  mind  that  the 
drama  is  an  affair  of  the  crowd,  an  affair  of  the  whole 
people.  The  moment  the  playwright  loses  hold  of  that 
fact  he  finds  himself  a  benighted  wanderer,  a  shepherd 
on  the  mountain-side  whose  sheep  have  run  away 
from  him. 

If  we  have  an  immensely  difficult  task  before  us  in 
fostering  a  national  drama  in  England,  have  you  not  a 
yet  far  more  difficult  task  in  America  ? 

The  best  hopes  for  an  American  national  drama  lie 
in  your  eager  curiosity;  in  the  immense,  generous 
receptivity  shown  by  the  ready  hearing  and  welcome 
you  give  those  who  bring  you  foreign  material  that  you 
may  turn  to  account ;  in  your  large  cosmopolitanism  of 
race  and  feeling ;  in  the  high  rewards  you  are  prepared 
to  pay  for  best  examples  of  any  kind  of  art.  These  are 
great  national  qualities,  and  your  possession  of  them  is 
a  very  hopeful  sign  that  you  will  ultimately  succeed  in 
developing  great  national  arts  of  your  own. 

Another  most  hopeful  sign  for  the  American  national 
drama  is  the,  interest  taken  in  it  by  your  leading  uni- 
versities. I  must  not  run  any  risk  of  making  our 
chairman  blush,  but  I  will  say  that  his  volumes  on  the 
English-speaking  drama  are  on  the  whole,  the  soundest 
and  sanest  general  contribution  to  Anglo-American 
dramatic  literature;  the  most  free  from  prejudice  and 
whim,  and  personal  freakishness  ;  the  widest  and 
steadiest  in  their  outlook.  They  are  everywhere  in 
touch  with  literature,  everywhere  in  touch  with  humanity, 
everywhere  in  touch  with  the  theatre. 

Then,  in  addition  to  Mr.  Brander  Matthews'  work 
here,  you  have  the  splendid  and  unique  work  (unique 
in  regard  to  university  teaching)  that  is  being  done 
by  Professor  Baker  at  Harvard,  by  Professor  Phelps  at 


AIMS  AND  DUTIES  OF  NATIONAL  THEATRE  79 

Yale,  and  Professor  Clark  at  Chicago.  The  leavening 
and  fruitful  nature  of  this  work  is  scarcely  apparent  yet. 
It  will  be  apparent  in  years  to  come,  and  it  cannot  fail 
enormously  to  influence  the  future  of  the  American 
drama  and  the  American  theatre,  whatever  that  future 
may  be.     These  are  all  most  hopeful  signs. 

I  will  just  glance  at  a  symptom,  or  perhaps  a  fact,  in 
your  national  life  and  character  which  appears  to  frown 
upon  your  hopes.  There  is  one  thing  to  note  about 
dramatic  literature.  It  is  essentially  creative,  essentially 
masculine — more  so  than  any  other  kind  of  literature. 
It  must,  therefore,  have  something  of  brutality  in  it, 
however  much  this  may  be  disguised  or  concealed.  I 
will  touch  very  lightly  on  this  point.  I  will  merely  ask 
you  to  say  whether  there  is  not  amongst  you  a  certain 
prudishness,  a  certain  narrowness  of  view,  which  tends 
to  drive  away  from  your  literature  and  your  theatre  those 
works  which  frankly  accept  the  whole  body  as  well  as 
the  whole  spirit  of  man  for  their  foundation  and  their 
substance,  and  are  a  compound  of  all  humanity  ?  We 
have  this  same  narrowness,  this  same  one-eyed  squint 
in  England.    It  is  a  sworn  and  eternal  enemy  to  literature. 

Is  not  all  the  greatest  literature  of  the  world  cun- 
ningly fashioned  from  an  alloy  of  body  and  spirit  ?  It 
is  true  that  many  of  the  most  exquisite  jewels  of  litera- 
ture are  wrought  from  pure  gold  of  the  spirit.  But 
these  are  not  the  greatest  things,  not  the  supreme 
things.  The  greatest  writers  of  all,  and  especially  the 
great  dramatists,  instinctively  work  with  this  alloy  of 
body  and  spirit — sometimes,  indeed,  with  a  very  base 
mixture  of  it.  But  the  alloy  is  necessary  if  the  coin  is 
to  get  current  and  stand  the  constant  handling  of  every- 
day circulation.  You  cannot  have  a  great  literature, 
especially  a  great  dramatic  literature,  unless  it  is  forged 
of  this  alloy,  human  body  and  human  spirit.  Young 
ladies'  literature  soon  dies.  Indeed  it  never  lives. 
Two  little  cameos  of  comedy  are  hung  in  my  memory  : 
Wordsworth  admonishing  Robert  Burns'   sons  not  to 


8o    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

fall  into  their  father's  evil  ways ;  and  Mr.  Bram  Stoker 
begging  Walt  Whitman  to  remove  the  improprieties 
from  his  poetry. 

I  return  to  the  main  conclusion  to  v^hich  we  were 
driven  when  we  asked  what  is  the  goal  and  aim  of  a 
National  Theatre?  It  is,  as  we  have  seen,  to  bring  the 
national  drama  into  alliance  with  the  national  literature. 
No  other  aim  or  goal  is  possible,  or  even  conceivable. 

Well,  how  do  you  propose  to  bring  the  American 
drama  into  alliance  with  American  literature  ?  What 
and  where  is  the  body  of  American  literature  upon  which 
you  have  to  engraft  your  drama  and  there  nourish  it 
till  it  becomes  a  living  member  of  a  living  organism  ? 

You  have  great  American  writers ;  writers  that  have 
a  place  in  the  world's  literature.  Will  you  ask  your- 
selves how  many  of  them  are  distinctively  American  ? 
Like  your  painters,  have  they  not  derived  their  mastery 
and  inspiration  from  lands  where  there  was  a  rich 
deposit  of  literary  and  artistic  soil  ?  May  I  quote  to 
you  a  saying  of  Matthew  Arnold's  ?  I  hope  you  will 
not  think  me  impolite  in  bringing  it  up.  I  will  risk 
that.  The  greatest  literary  critic  of  the  last  generation 
said:  "In  all  matters  of  literature  and  art  America  is 
a  province  of  England."  That  may  not  be  true  of 
American  art,  but  is  it  not  true  of  American  literature  ? 
Would  it  not  be  confirmed  by  that  consensus  of  culti- 
vated literary  Anglo-American  opinion  which  alone  has 
authority  to  give  a  verdict?  If  you  dissent  from  it, 
will  you  not  be  obliged  to  justify  your  dissent  by  naming 
a  roll  of  American  writers  in  the  world's  literature, 
radically  distinct  and  separate  from  the  roll  of  English 
writers ;  isolated  from  English  literature  by  reason  of 
qualities  that  have  unmistakably  sprung  from  American 
soil? 

Undoubtedly  you  can  claim  one  or  two  such  writers 
— Mark  Twain  and  Walt  Whitman  for  instance.  But 
these  and  any  others  who  can  be  classed  in  the  world's 
literature   as  distinctively  American   are  not   in   touch 


AIMS  AND  DUTIES  OF  NATIONAL  THEATRE  8i 

with  the  drama.  I  think  it  impossible  to  doubt  that 
with  the  abundant  energy  and  youth  of  this  nation,  its 
ceaseless  and  varied  activities,  its  thirst  for  knowledge, 
its  desire  to  excel  in  literature  and  art — I  think  it  im- 
possible to  doubt  that  you  will  inscribe  many  great  and 
worthy  names  on  the  roll  of  the  world's  literature.  But 
if  you  cannot  claim  to  have  a  roll  of  distinctively 
American  writers  to-day,  do  you  not  admit  my  major 
contention  that  at  any  rate  for  the  present  you  have 
not  in  your  national  life  those  underlying  conditions, 
that  prepared  soil,  in  which  alone  a  great  and  dis- 
tinguished national  drama  can  grow?  I  do  not  say  that 
you  are  not  on  the  eve  of  developing  those  conditions. 
Perhaps  they  are  crumbling  and  decaying  in  England. 
Perhaps  they  are  ripening  in  America.  I  do  not  say  that 
some  penetrative  leaven  of  just  clear  thought  and  feeling 
may  not  so  work  in  the  American  theatre  to-day  as  wholly 
to  change  the  tastes  and  habits  of  your  playgoing  public. 
It  is  largely  a  matter  of  habit.  All  the  latest  researches, 
both  in  brain  science  and  in  sociology  go  to  proclaim 
that  individuals  and  communities  are  almost  entirely 
the  creatures  of  habit,  of  custom,  of  set  modes  of 
thinking  and  acting.  We  live  in  ruts  and  rabbit-holes 
of  daily  routine  and  usage.  It  is  a  fact  that  the  average 
formation  and  convolutions  of  our  brains  are  quite  equal 
to  those  of  the  Greek  philosophers  and  poets.  Potentially 
we  are  quite  capable  of  their  achievements.  Only  we 
haven't  got  into  the  knack,  the  habit  of  it.  In  Greece 
they  got  into  a  habit  of  talking  philosophy  and  carving 
beautiful  statues,  and  writing  great  tragedies.  So  they 
did  it  very  well.  In  England  and  America  we  have  got 
into  a  habit  of  making  motor  cars,  and  buying  stocks 
and  shares.  And  we  do  it  very  well,  because  we  esteem 
motor  cars  and  stocks  and  shares  more  highly  than  we 
esteem  philosophy  and  poetry.  Our  dominant  and 
possessive  habits  of  thought  all  run  that  way,  and  guide, 
and  colour,  and  shape  all  our  estimates  of  things. 

But   national  habits  of  thought,  national  character, 

G 


82    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

national  conduct,  national  ways  of  looking  at  things, 
may  change  very  rapidly  in  our  new  civilization,  as  we 
have  seen  in  the  case  of  Japan.  And  what  I  have  called 
the  necessary  underlying  conditions  for  the  growth  of  a 
national  drama  in  America  may  possibly  come  into 
being  within  a  comparatively  short  space  of  time.  At 
present  I  think  your  first  inquiry  should  be  as  to  what 
area  of  this  prepared  soil  is  already  deposited  in  your 
national  life  for  your  national  drama  to  grow  in  ? 

Now,  I  have  taken  up  so  much  time  in  searching 
with  you  for  the  aim  and  goal  of  a  National  Theatre 
that  little  time  is  left  to  speak  of  the  duties  of  a  National 
Theatre.  They  are  more  apparent  than  the  aim,  and  we 
need  do  little  more  than  briefly  run  them  over. 

The  first  duty  of  a  National  Theatre  is  obviously  to 
protect  the  commercial  side  of  the  enterprise  until  the 
national  theatre  and  the  national  drama  are  so  firmly 
established  in  popular  favour  and  comprehension  as  to 
pay  their  own  way.  That  much,  and  nothing  more. 
Wild  ideas  are  bruited  in  England  that  the  National 
Theatre  ought  to  be  perpetually  supported  by  govern- 
ment as  an  educational  institute  for  ramming  down  the 
throats  of  playgoers  doses  and  pills  of  social,  political, 
and  scientific  theories  and  doctrines.  English  playgoers 
have  already  swallowed  a  sample  or  two  of  the  drugs 
off'ered  them,  and  have  left  the  theatre  with  wry  faces 
and  sick  stomachs. 

Let  Goethe  have  another  word.  He  says,  "  Shake- 
speare and  Moliere  wished  above  all  things  to  make 
money  by  their  theatres.  Nothing  is  more  dangerous 
to  the  well-being  of  a  theatre  than  when  the  director  is 
so  placed  that  he  can  live  on  in  careless  security,  know- 
ing that  however  the  receipts  of  the  treasury  may  fail 
he  will  be  able  to  indemnify  himself  from  another 
source." 

A  National  Theatre  ought  to  be  liberally  subsidized 
until  such  time  as  it  has  won  public  favour  and  compre- 
hension, and  established  sound  traditions  of  authorship 


AIMS  AND  DUTIES  OF  NATIONAL  THEATRE  83 

and  acting.  After  that  it  ought  to  take  care  of  itself 
and  make  such  a  profit  as  will  enable  it  always  to  tide 
over  bad  seasons  and  unavoidable  misfortunes.  If  you 
say  that  it  ought  to  be  perpetually  subsidized  to  meet 
current  expenses,  then  you  say  it  exists  for  the  purpose 
of  boring  playgoers  with  something  they  don't  want ;  it 
becomes  not  a  National  Theatre,  but  a  national  mauso- 
leum for  the  preservation  of  defunct  specimens  of 
dramatic  art. 

Another  duty  of  the  National  Theatre  is  to  provide 
machinery  for  keeping  alive  such  plays  of  literary  value 
and  artistic  workmanship  as  may  not  immediately  catch 
the  ear  of  the  great  public,  but  which  yet  have  signs  of 
future  life  and  growth  in  them. 

Again,  it  is  plainly  the  duty  of  a  National  Theatre  to 
give  constant  performances  of  the  classical  masterpieces 
of  the  language.  This,  in  your  case,  means  the  master- 
pieces of  English  drama.  Undoubtedly  a  great  and  high 
pleasure  is  to  be  obtained  from  watching  the  perform- 
ance of  our  standard  tragedies  and  comedies.  But  classic 
plays  are  to  be  considered  chiefly  as  models  to  be  used 
for  our  guidance  and  imitation  in  fashioning  works  of  our 
own  time.  It  is  the  living  drama  of  our  own  day  whose 
fostering  must  be  our  chief  concern.  It  is  the  living 
drama  of  our  own  day,  and  not  the  revivals  of  classical 
plays,  that  should  be  most  welcomed  and  most  honoured 
on  our  modern  stage.  Shakespeare's  and  Moliere's 
companies  were  not  employed  in  dusting  up  ancient 
masterpieces,  and  chopping  and  adapting  them  to  a 
different  mode  of  representation.-  When  the  chief 
public  interest  centres  round  an  archaeological  restora- 
tion and  the  chief  honours  are  given  to  it,  you  may  be 
sure  there  is  only  a  very  languid  and  pulseless  living 
drama. 

Once  more,  it  is  the  duty  of  a  National  Theatre  to 
give  revivals  of  those  modern  works  of  the  last  genera- 
tion which  had  a  literary  quality  and  which  also  drew 
the  public.    The  revival  of  a  play  in  another  theatre  and 


84    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

with  new  actors  often  exposes  it  in  a  different  light,  and 
proves  it  to  have  lasting  merits  which  were  not  apparent 
at  first.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  Theatre  Frangais  con- 
stantly draws  into  its  repertory  those  pieces  which  have 
been  successfully  produced  at  other  theatres,  and  which 
have  shown  themselves  also  to  possess  a  claim  to  rank 
as  dramatic  literature.  This  is  a  valuable  and  important 
function  of  a  national  theatre. 

Some  further  plain  duties  of  a  National  Theatre  are 
to  put  the  drama  into  active  sympathy  and  relation  with 
all  the  other  arts  ;  to  issue  a  plain,  beautifully  printed 
programme ;  to  forbid  all  unworthy  methods  of  adver- 
tisement and  ways  of  gaining  the  public  ear :  to  throw 
out  feelers  and  to  draw  towards  it  all  citizens  who  have 
authority  in  matters  of  intellect,  and  science,  and  religion, 
and  literature. 

But  one  of  the  chief  duties  of  a  National  Theatre  is  to 
offer  a  rigorous  apprenticeship  and  training  in  the  fine 
art  of  acting ;  to  open  a  school  where  all  that  is  best  in 
the  technique  of  acting  shall  be  taught  by  the  best 
teachers ;  to  insist  that  no  actor  shall  come  upon  its 
boards  who  has  not  mastered  this  technique.  How  can 
we  have  plays  of  serious  thought  and  meaning  on  our 
boards  unless  we  have  actors  who  can  not  merely 
sympathetically  apprehend  that  meaning,  but  who  have 
also  the  necessary  technique  by  which  they  can  drive  it 
home  to  the  public  ? 

But  all  these,  and  many  other  duties  of  a  National 
Theatre  are  so  plain  as  to  need  no  enforcement,  scarcely 
even  a  mention.  They  lie  upon  the  surface  of  the 
business. 

I  return  then  to  the  aim  and  goal  of  a  National 
Theatre,  to  the  idea  that  must  govern  the  enterprise  if 
it  is  to  be  brought  to  a  successful  issue.  May  I  re-state 
it  on  account  of  its  great  importance  ?  You  have  started 
out  to  foster  a  school  of  American  drama  that  as  literature 
shall  meet  and  satisfy  the  judgment  of  cultivated  Anglo- 
American  men  of  letters.     You  may  say  you  have  started 


AIMS  AND  DUTIES  OF  NATIONAL  THEATRE  85 

out  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  Then,  what  have  you 
started  out  to  do  ?  Conceivably,  as  I  said  at  first,  you 
intended  "  to  cultivate  a  very  delicate,  refined,  exclusive 
dramatic  art  that  shall  give  a  social  pleasure  akin  to  the 
opera."  Well,  I  think  that  is  worth  doing,  and  I  think 
a  city  like  New  York  should  support  a  theatre  of  that 
kind.  It  could  probably  be  made  to  pay ;  certainly  its 
upkeep  would  be  infinitesimal  compared  with  the  upkeep 
of  your  present  enterprise. 

But  such  a  scheme  is  quite  distinct  from  the  aim  and 
goal  of  an  American  National  Theatre.  I  beg  you  to 
take  note  of  this,  because  I  am  persuaded  that  the  con- 
fusion of  the  two  schemes  can  only  bring  you  further 
disappointment  and  failure.  To  support  a  small  theatre 
for  the  production  of  high-class  exotic  comedy  and 
drama  is  not  the  work  of  a  National  Theatre ;  though 
indirectly  it  may  lend  valuable  aid  to  the  larger  scheme. 
The  aim  and  goal  of  an  American  National  Theatre  can 
only  be  to  bring  your  national  drama  into  alliance  with 
literature. 

Meantime,  as  a  means  to  this  end  you  have  built  a 
handsome  theatre.  Is  not  that  very  much  as  if  Saint 
Paul  had  begun  by  building  Canterbury  Cathedral, 
instead  of  by  preaching  the  gospel?  Ought  you  not 
first  to  get  hold  of  a  few  Saint  Pauls  and  set  them 
preaching?  Does  not  the  whole  matter  of  a  National 
Theatre  need  to  be  approached  from  another  side,  and 
in  a  wholly  different  spirit  ?  Have  you  not  been  trying 
to  impose  something  upon  your  national  life  that  must 
spring  up  from  within  it  ? 

Undoubtedly  there  have  been  mistakes  of  manage- 
ment, and  the  very  grave  mistake  of  admitting  pro- 
ductions that  should  have  no  possible  place  in  a  National 
Theatre.  But  in  the  present  condition  of  things,  are 
you  likely  to  fare  much  better  in  the  future?  If  you 
build  another  theatre  and  put  it  under  other  management, 
will  not  the  result  be  very  much  the  same  while  the 
present    underlying   conditions    remain?      Where    are 


86    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

your  plays  to  come  from — plays  that  shall  successfully 
make  both  a  popular  and  a  literary  appeal  ?  Great  plays 
are  not  written  in  the  air  for  an  imaginary  audience. 
They  are  written  in  an  atmosphere  of  great  plays  and 
great  traditions,  to  be  played  by  a  company  of  highly 
trained  actors  before  a  sympathetic  and  appreciative 
audience.  Will  you  not  be  driven  about  to  find  attrac- 
tions that  will  not  be  of  any  higher  or  more  conspicuous 
merit  than  the  attractions  offered  by  the  commercial 
managers  round  you  ?  Will  they  not  still  have  the  first 
choice  of  what  is  in  the  market  ?  Will  you  not  every 
now  and  then  be  obliged  to  put  up  some  quite  unworthy 
stopgap  which  will  tend  to  bring  your  whole  enterprise 
into  contempt  ?  And  when  your  work  is  brought  before 
the  ultimate  tribunal,  the  tribunal  of  cultivated  English- 
speaking  men  of  letters,  what  will  the  verdict  be  ?  It  is 
a  high  and  severe  tribunal.  Any  author,  English  or 
American,  who  brings  his  play  to  a  National  Theatre 
must  be  prepared  to  face  it.  Indeed  he  should  write  his 
play  with  the  knowledge  and  the  hope  that  this  court  of 
appeal  will  be  his  final  judge.  I  think  I  see  many  a 
writer  of  successful  plays,  English  and  American, 
flattered  by  the  acclaim  of  the  critics  and  the  public, 
tripping  up  the  steps  of  that  court,  his  manuscripts 
under  his  arm.  Will  not  a  terribly  disdainful  and  ironic 
smile  be  the  only  answer  vouchsafed  him  ?  Is  it  worth 
while  for  a  National  Theatre  to  spend,  season  after 
season,  large  sums  of  money  to  produce  plays  that 
finally  can  but  provoke  that  terribly  disdainful  smile  ? 

These  are  questions  which  I  think  you  may  well 
consider  before  you  take  another  step,  or  spend  a  single 
additional  cent.  I  am  sure  you  are  still  prepared  to  be 
very  generous  in  this  matter.  Money  is  certainly 
necessary  to  float  this  enterprise  at  the  beginning.  But 
the  spending  of  money,  the  production  even  of  success- 
ful plays,  will  not  bring  you  any  satisfying  result  or  any 
lasting  honour  unless  you  get  those  plays  passed  and 
hallmarked  as  literature. 


AIMS  AND  DUTIES  OF  NATIONAL  THEATRE  ^7 

Well,  there  it  is!  As  you  Americans  say,  "That's 
all  there  is  to  it." 

I  have  spoken  with  the  heartiest  sympathy  for  your 
enterprise,  with  every  wish  that  you  may  succeed,  with 
every  wish  to  save  you  from  that  continued  disappoint- 
ment which  may  end  in  your  abandoning  it  altogether. 
In  English  papers  it  is  sometimes  made  a  matter  of 
comment  that  American  millionaires  do  not  take  any 
public  part  in  the  politics  of  their  country.  About 
that  I  have  no  opinion  to  offer,  except  that  politics 
generally  seem  to  me  so  muddy  and  noisy  a  business, 
that  anybody  who  keeps  out  of  it  is  to  be  heartily 
congratulated.  But  the  millionaires  of  America  do 
most  generously  advance  and  support  the  art  and 
science  of  their  country.  And  are  they  not  thus  doing 
a  better,  a  higher  thing,  are  they  not  conferring  deeper 
and  more  lasting  benefits  on  their  countrymen  than  if 
they  became  active  politicians? 

There  are  others  besides  the  founders  who  have 
worked  for  the  success  of  this  great  enterprise  of  a 
National  Theatre  and  a  national  drama.  There  are  many 
now  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  fired  with  this  idea, 
hoping,  working,  fighting  to  bring  the  modern  drama 
right  into  the  centre  of  the  intellectual  and  artistic 
life  of  the  two  nations.  In  the  end  I  believe  they 
will  succeed.  There  will  be  many  mistakes,  many 
disappointments,  many  failures,  much  discouragement, 
much  fighting  with  beasts  at  Ephesus  like  Saint  Paul, 
but  in  the  end  I  believe  they  will  succeed.  And  every 
soldier  in  this  cause  may  hear  a  celestial  salutation 
from  the  abode  where  the  eternal  are : 

"  They  out-talked  thee,  hissed  thee,  tore  thee  ? 
Better  men  fared  thus  before  thee. 
Fired  their  ringing  shot  and  passed 
Hotly  charged — and  sank  at  last. 

"  Charge  once  more  then,  and  be  dumb. 
Let  the  victors  when  they  come, 
V^hen  the  forts  of  folly  fall, 
Find  thy  body  at  the  wall." 


V 

A   NOTE   ON   THE   AMERICAN    NATIONAL   THEATRE 

September,  1912. 

The  New  Theatre  on  Central  Park,  New  York,  a  very 
handsome  and  imposing  building,  was  erected  by 
American  millionaires  for  the  purpose  of  elevating  the 
drama  in  America.  It  was  opened  in  the  autumn  of 
1909  with  a  lavish  production  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra. 
During  the  next  two  seasons  the  theatre  offered  a 
curiously  variegated  programme,  including  several 
tasteful  and  creditable  productions,  but  not  indicating 
any  clear  or  original  policy  either  on  the  modern  or 
the  poetic  side.  Indeed,  in  such  a  theatre  and  under 
such  conditions  it  was  impossible  for  the  management 
to  have  a  policy.  At  the  end  of  the  second  season, 
after  enormous  losses,  the  enterprise  was  abandoned, 
and  the  theatre  has  since  been  given  over  to  popular 
spectacle.  It  remains  a  staring  monument  of  the  futility 
of  building  a  National  Theatre  for  intellectual  drama 
before  some  considerable  knowledge  and  appreciation 
of  intellectual  drama  are  spread  amongst  the  general 
playgoing  public.  It  offers  some  warnings  to  the  pro- 
jectors of  the  English  scheme,  which  I  have  tried  to 
indicate  in  the  later  essay  on  "The  English  National 
Theatre"  (p.  121). 

The  American  scheme  was  foredoomed  to  failure ; 
partly  from  the  huge  size  of  the  building,  which 
rendered  it  quite  unsuitable  except  for  plays  requiring 
the  loudest  and  broadest  style  of  acting.     All   delicate 

88 


NOTE  ON  AMERICAN  NATIONAL  THEATRE   89 

and  intimate  effects  of  voice  and  gesture  and  expression 
were  lost  to  nine-tenths  of  the  audience. 

Our  modern  drama  seems  for  the  moment  to  be  de- 
pending more  and  more  on  minute  colloquial  realistic 
effects.  The  alivest  and  most  interesting  work  of  recent 
years  can  only  be  seen  to  advantage  in  a  small  theatre. 
It  was,  therefore,  impossible  for  the  manager  of  the  New 
Theatre  to  make  a  success  with  modern  plays  of  literary 
and  intellectual  quality,  even  if  he  had  been  able  to 
obtain  them.  Mr.  Winthrop  Ames  may  be  congratu- 
lated on  having  resigned  a  hopeless  task  in  giving  up 
the  management  of  the  New  Theatre.  He  may  be  more 
heartily  congratulated  on  building  the  New  York  Little 
Theatre,  and  therein  offering  American  playgoers  a 
perfect  home  for  intellectual  drama.  It  is  a  delight 
simply  to  be  within  its  walls. 


VI 

SPEECH   AT  THE   OXFORD   UNION 

Delivered  at  a  debate  of  the  Oxford  Union  on  the  motion,  "  That 
this  House  would  welcome  the  establishment  of  a  National 
Theatre,"  on  the  evening  of  June  2nd,  1910. 

I  MUST  own  that  I  am  a  little  surprised  to  find  that  in 
Oxford  University  there  is  any  difference  of  opinion  as 
to  the  advisability  of  founding  a  National  Theatre  in 
England. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  most  powerful  argu- 
ments for  a  National  Theatre  are  to  be  found  in  the 
present  condition  of  the  Drama  in  England.  In  the 
month  of  February  I  had  occasion  to  look  up  how  many 
Shakespearean  performances  were  taking  place  in  Great 
Britain  on  a  certain  night.  Throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  land  there  was  only  one — a  performance 
of  "Twelfth  Night"  at  the  Queen's  Theatre  at  Man- 
chester. During  the  month  of  May,  when  the  London 
season  is  at  its  height,  after  the  Shakespearean  festival 
at  His  Majesty's,  there  was  not  a  single  Shakespearean 
performance  in  London.  At  the  present  moment  there 
is  only  one,  and  that  at  a  cheap-price  theatre.  Speaking 
generally,  I  think  we  may  say  there  has  been  a  very 
marked  slump  in  Shakespeare  for  some  years  past.  We 
do,  indeed,  get  occasional  revivals,  but  the  length  of 
their  run  is  noticeably  shorter  than  was  the  corre- 
sponding run  of  Shakespearean  plays  under  Irving's 
management  twenty-five  years  ago.     Shakespeare  then 

90 


OXFORD   UNION   SPEECH  91 

ran  for  two  or  three  hundred  nights.  Our  present 
managers  have  a  difficulty  in  getting  him  up  to  a 
hundred.  Thanks  to  the  devotion  and  energy  of  Sir 
Herbert  Tree,  we  have  a  Shakespearean  Festival  every 
year  and  there  are  some  good,  and  occasionally  notable 
performances  in  it.  But  for  all-round  acting  our 
present  representations  of  Shakespeare  will  not  com- 
pare with  those  of  twenty-five  years  ago,  when  they 
were  stiffened  and  broadened  by  the  acting  of  many 
actors  trained  in  the  old  school.  There  is,  indeed,  a 
very  noticeable  decline  in  the  art  of  speaking  blank 
verse  on  the  English  stage.  But  surely  a  high  pro- 
ficiency in  the  art  of  speaking  verse  is  the  very 
foundation  of  any  tolerable  school  of  Shakespearean 
acting. 

In  reviewing  Shakespearean  performances  during 
the  last  thirty  years,  how  few  of  the  great  Shakespearean 
passages  can  we  remember  that  have  been  adequately 
rendered.  How  rare  is  it  to  listen  to  one  of  these 
passages  on  the  English  stage  and  to  get  the  proper 
pleasure  from  its  delivery.  How  often,  indeed,  do  we 
find  these  great  passages  merely  mangled  and  mumbled 
in  such  a  way  that  we  should  never  suspect  them  to  be 
verse  unless  we  knew  it.  I  do  not  say  that  we  do  not 
get  other  delights  from  our  Shakespearean  performances 
— delights  from  the  scenery,  from  pieces  of  thoughtful 
characterization,  from  the  management  of  crowds ;  but 
this  first  and  most  essential  delight  of  a  Shakespearean 
performance,  the  delight  of  hearing  blank  verse  musi- 
cally spoken,  we  scarcely  ever  get  upon  our  London 
stage. 

When  we  turn  to  the  modern  drama,  we  may  find 
certain  very  hopeful  and  encouraging  signs.  Our  pro- 
duction of  modern  drawing-room  comedy  is  at  a  very 
high  level.  But  when  we  come  to  serious  drama, 
dealing  in  an  honest  and  searching  way  with  our  modern 
life,  we  are  forced  to  own  that  scarcely  three  pieces  have 
met  with  any  success  during  the  last  six  years.    Serious 


92     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

drama  in  London  has  no  hold  whatever  upon  the  public. 
This  may  be  the  fault  of  dramatic  authors  who  cannot 
write  serious  plays  sufficiently  interesting;  or  it  may 
be  the  fault  of  the  actors  who  cannot  interpret  great 
passions  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  them  credible ;  or 
it  may  be  the  fault  of  the  public  who  demand  mere 
frivolous  entertainment  of  the  theatre.  But  there  is  the 
fact  that  while  dozens  of  serious  plays  are  being  suc- 
cessfully produced  in  France  and  Germany,  the  English 
stage  generally  produces  them  to  run  a  few  nights  only 
to  empty  houses. 

If  we  turn  to  the  provinces,  we  may  almost  say  that 
the  drama  is  dead.  The  theatres  are  empty  except 
when  musical  comedies  are  being  played,  or  when  a 
London  star  brings  down  his  company  to  play  the  latest 
London  success.  Meanwhile,  the  large  music  halls 
are  crammed,  and  are  everywhere  squeezing  the  drama 
out  of  existence.  These  music  halls  do  indeed  give 
certain  sketches  and  dramatic  scenes,  but  they  are  for 
the  most  part  very  crude,  and  on  a  very  debased  level. 

To  sum  up,  we  may  say  that  to-day  in  England  the 
drama  scarcely  exists  as  a  form  of  art  at  all ;  it  is  merely 
tolerated  by  the  great  public  as  a  hanger-on  of  popular 
amusement. 

Now  I  will  ask  you  to  say  whether  you  think  that 
state  of  things  is  a  desirable  one  ?  I  will  grant  that  the 
drama  in  all  ages  has  been  more  or  less  connected  with 
popular  amusement.  The  first  thing  that  an  author  or 
an  actor  learns  is  that  he  must  amuse  or  interest  his 
public.  I  am  always  affirming  that  the  end  of  the 
drama  is  to  interest  and  amuse.  There  is  no  question 
about  this ;  the  question  is  on  what  level  and  by  what 
means  the  public  shall  be  interested  and  amused  in  the 
theatre.  For  many  years  I  have  been  begging  English 
theatre-goers  to  separate  their  drama  from  popular 
amusement.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  drama  and  popular 
amusement  will  never  be  separated  on  the  stage.  The 
separation  must  be  made  in  the  mind  of  the  theatre-goer. 


OXFORD   UNION  SPEECH  93 

It  is  really  a  question  of  how  far  theatre-goers  can  be 
persuaded  to  take  a  delight  in  the  drama  as  a  study  and 
an  interpretation  of  life,  or  even  as  an  exhibition  of 
manners.  It  is  a  question  whether  the  drama  shall  be 
a  branch  of  popular  amusement  and  muddled  up  with 
it,  or  whether  it  shall  again  become  a  branch  of  English 
literature,  and  judged  on  that  level. 

But,  you  ask,  will  the  establishment  and  endowment 
of  a  National  Theatre  bring  this  about?  Undoubtedly 
the  national  recognition  of  the  drama  would  tend 
to  bring  about  this  result,  inasmuch  as  it  would  bring 
the  theatre  into  relation  with  the  intellectual  and 
artistic  life  of  the  nation.  At  the  present  moment 
literature  stands  largely  aloof  from  the  stage.  Literary 
men  will  not  take  the  trouble  to  learn  the  very 
hard  and  tedious  craft  of  play-writing.  They  write 
unactable  plays  which  don't  go  home  to  the  public,  and 
when  these  fail,  they  become  contemptuous  of  the 
drama.  Most  of  you  will  remember  George  Meredith's 
fine  Essay  on  Comedy  and  his  splendid  tribute  to 
Moliere.  Well,  lately  we  have  seen  a  comedy  by  George 
Meredith,  which  was,  indeed,  splendidly  written,  so  far 
as  one's  wits  were  nimble  enough  to  follow  it.  But  its 
personages  were  lifeless  and  purposeless  and  artificial, 
and  it  had  no  definite  concrete  scheme  of  action.  And 
it  was  written  in  affected  language,  not  understanded  of 
the  people ;  so  one  was  forced  to  ask  why  George 
Meredith  did  not  follow  Moliere's  reported  habit  of  first 
reading  his  comedy  to  his  housekeeper. 

Now  a  National  Theatre  would  tend  to  draw  the 
best  literary  men  of  the  day  to  write  for  it,  and  amongst 
them  some  would  be  found  teachable  enough  to  grasp 
the  fact  that  playwriting  is  a  very  skilled  art,  altogether 
apart  from  literature  in  itself.  Then,  again,  a  National 
Theatre  would  most  likely  attract  many  of  those  fine 
actors  who  are  now  wandering  about  because  they  have 
not  the  business  instinct  sufficiently  developed  to  take 
and  manage  a  theatre,  with  all  its  attendant  anxieties 


94    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

and  vexations.  There  are  many  fine  actors  who  are 
rarely  seen  on  the  London  stage  because  they  have  not 
influence  enough,  or  money  enough,  to  secure  a  theatre 
to  act  parts  that  will  display  their  abilities.  In  a  National 
Theatre  I  hope  we  should  have  a  very  fine  all-round 
company,  so  that  all  the  parts  would  be  played  on  an 
equal  level.  This  should  not  interfere  with  the  present 
star  actors  who  wish  to  surround  themselves  with  a 
company  of  their  own.  Rather  a  healthy  competition 
would  be  developed  between  the  National  Theatre  and 
the  other  managements,  with  the  result  of  raising  the 
standards  all  round. 

What  would  be  the  result  of  a  Shakespeare  National 
Theatre  upon  the  public? 

It  is  useless  to  write  plays  that  are  wide  away 
from,  or  that  are  far  ahead  of,  the  tastes  and  habits  of 
the  general  body  of  the  theatre-going  public.  Plays 
are  meant  to  be  popular  and  to  draw  a  great  crowd. 
Shakespeare  was  the  most  popular  playwright  of  his 
day.  He  gave  the  public  what  they  wanted,  as  every 
successful  playwright  must  do.  But  what  do  the  public 
want?  I  believe  that  gradually,  and  perhaps  very 
slowly,  the  public  can  be  led  to  take  an  interest  and 
delight  in  the  drama  as  an  intellectual  entertainment. 
I  believe  that  the  great  public  is  indifferent  enough  and 
good-natured  enough  to  be  gradually  led  out  to  take  an 
interest  in  drama  that  can  worthily  be  called  a  national 
art.  The  truth  is  that  the  public  are  always  being 
educated,  whether  they  know  it  and  whether  they  like 
it  or  not.  Consider  the  enormous  education  of  the 
public  during  the  last  twenty  years  in  the  popular 
form  of  musical  comedy.  They  have  been  persuaded 
and  told  that  the  serious  drama  is  dull,  that  it  is  immoral, 
that  it  will  bore  them,  that  they  ought  to  go  to  the  theatre 
to  be  amused ;  and  these  doctrines  have  been  preached 
to  them  with  such  insistency  that  we  may  say  the  English 
play-going  public  have  been  deliberately  educated  down 
to  their  present  low  standard.     It  is  certain  that  the 


OXFORD   UNION  SPEECH  95 

leading  newspapers  in  the  country  could  in  a  few  years 
work  a  great  change  in  the  standard  of  the  English 
drama.  We  are  all  creatures  of  habit  to  an  extent  that 
we  never  sufficiently  recognize.  The  English  public  is 
not  so  dull,  so  stupid,  so  intellectually  degraded,  as  it  is 
often  believed  to  be.  I  believe  that  if  one  National 
Theatre  with  high  standards  of  authorship  and  acting 
were  established  amongst  us,  that  there  is  not  only  a 
public  sufficient  to  fill  that  theatre  and  make  it  pay,  but 
I  believe  there  is  a  larger  public  growing  up  who  would 
be  drawn  to  the  numerous  theatres  that  we  might  expect 
to  follow  and  copy  the  example  thus  set  before  them. 
I  believe  that  we  should  see,  not  only  in  London,  but  in 
our  great  provincial  cities,  theatres  started  with  high 
artistic  aims,  and  controlled  by  the  citizens  of  those  cities 
as  a  local  institution.  Thus  gradually  great  traditions 
would  be  established  amongst  us,  not  only  in  London, 
but  all  over  the  country.  I  have  the  greatest  faith  that 
ultimately  the  English  play-going  public  could  be  edu- 
cated to  a  very  high  level  indeed. 

But  you  say :  Ought  a  National  Theatre  to  be  sub- 
sidized for  this  purpose?  For  my  own  part,  seeing 
what  an  enormous  influence  the  drama  might  have,  I 
think  it  would  be  a  wise  economy  of  the  government 
to  start  theatres  in  every  large  centre.  I  believe  the 
national  money  could  not  be  spent  in  a  better  way. 

But  the  scheme  which  I  am  here  to  support  to-night 
is  not  calling  for  government  aid.  It  is  hoped  that  the 
English-speaking  people  throughout  the  Empire  will 
themselves  recognize  the  necessity  of  establishing  the 
drama  as  a  national  art,  and  will  support  the  Shakespeare 
Memorial  Theatre  to  the  extent  of  giving  it  a  handsome 
building  and  a  secure  start. 

I  cannot  understand  any  objection  that  has  been 
raised  to  this  scheme,  except  those  that  come  from 
interested  people ;  and  these  are  indeed  easily  to  be 
understood.  When  Paul  and  Silas  visited  Thyatira, 
they  met  with  much  opposition  from  the  proprietors  of 


96    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

a  soothsaying  girl.  Paul  had  cast  a  devil  out  of  the 
soothsaying  girl,  and  had  thus  taken  away  her  vocation, 
and  the  gains  of  her  proprietors.  Upon  this  the  pro- 
prietors took  great  objection  to  Paul's  doctrines,  and 
clapped  Paul  and  Silas  into  prison.  I  quite  understand 
the  opposition  to  a  National  Theatre  which  comes  from 
the  proprietors  of  the  soothsaying  girl;  and  from  all 
whose  gains  and  position  would  be  endangered  by  its 
establishment  with  high  standards  in  acting  and  author- 
ship. Indeed,  although  there  has  been  much  opposition 
to  the  endowment  of  a  National  Theatre,  it  is  a  curious 
fact  that  at  the  present  moment  many  existing  forms  or 
perversions  of  English  drama  are  largely  endowed  by 
private  persons.  I  believe  if  we  could  turn  over  the 
books  of  all  the  London  theatres  in  the  last  thirty  years, 
and  discover  their  exact  balances,  we  should  find  that 
enough  money  had  been  wasted  and  thrown  away  in 
London  theatres  to  establish  and  endow  three  or  four 
such  institutions  as  the  present  proposed  National 
Theatre.  I  cannot,  of  course,  have  access  to  the  books 
and  give  you  the  exact  figures,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact 
those  who  are  best  qualified  to  estimate  will  tell  you 
that  an  enormous  sum  of  money  is  being  continually 
poured  into  the  London  theatres  to  support  their 
different  entertainments.  Of  course  this  money  is 
often  not  given  for  the  sake  of  the  drama,  but  to 
support  a  certain  manager,  or  at  times,  perhaps,  for 
less  worthy  motives.  Is  it  not  an  extraordinary  fact 
that  rich  men  can  be  found  in  abundance  to  support 
quite  frivolous  and  unintellectual  forms  of  entertain- 
ment, and  yet  cannot  be  found  to  put  their  hands 
in  their  pockets  and  unite  in  a  scheme  for  establish- 
ing and  fostering  this  fine  art  of  Shakespeare?  But 
I  believe  that  the  English  people  will  come  forward  and 
raise  a  National  Theatre  as  a  worthy  monument  to  our 
great  poet.  I  may  point  out  here  that  there  is  no  other 
scheme  in  contemplation  to  do  honour  to  him  on  the 
third  centenary  of  his  death.     Again,  it  is  not  proposed 


OXFORD   UNION   SPEECH  97 

to  devote  the  National  Theatre  exclusively  to  Shakes- 
pearean performances.  The  modern  and  really  vital 
drama  of  our  time  will  also  have  its  due  share  of  repre- 
sentation. 

The  standing  argument  for  a  National  Theatre  is,  of 
course,  the  Theatre  Frangais  in  Paris.  With  that  great 
theatre  constantly  before  us,  it  seems  absurd  to  argue 
against  the  establishment  of  a  National  Theatre  in 
London. 

In  England  for  generations  past  the  drama  and  litera- 
ture have  been  virtually  separated.  We  had  a  great 
Victorian  literature,  but  its  great  names  are  not  on  our 
roll  of  playwrights,  except  as  failures.  It  is  generations 
since  a  name,  great  in  English  literature,  was  also  great 
on  the  English  stage.  But  if  we  look  across  the  Channel 
we  find  that  the  greatest  names  in  French  literature 
have  also  been  those  of  the  greatest  dramatists.  There 
is  scarcely  a  name  of  note  in  French  literature  for  two  cen- 
turies that  has  not  appeared  on  play-bills  as  the  name  of 
a  successful  dramatist.  It  is  because  a  National  Theatre 
would  afford  a  meeting-place  for  English  literature  and 
English  drama,  that  I  appeal  to  you  to  support  this 
movement.  Surely  Oxford  is  the  last  place  where  the 
necessity  for  a  union  between  English  literature  and 
the  English  drama  will  be  denied.  Surely  Oxford  is  the 
last  place  where  such  a  movement  will  be  refused  an 
enthusiastic  and  overwhelming  support. 


H 


VII 

THE   RECOGNITION   OF  THE    DRAMA    BY   THE  STATE 

Reprinted  from  the  Nineteenth  Cejitury  Review  for  March,  1904, 
by  the  kind  permission  of  the  late  Sir  James  Knowles. 

It  is  always  a  critical  and  dangerous  moment  for  any 
business  when  the  stress  of  events  frightens  everybody 
into  the  easy  exclamation  that  "  something  must  be 
done ! "  For  so  often  it  happens  in  the  panic  that  the 
wrong  thing  is  done,  and  done  so  thoroughly  and 
effectually,  that  the  whole  business  is  thenceforth  maimed 
and  disjointed,  and  falls  to  the  ground. 

We  have  reached  such  a  critical  and  dangerous 
moment  in  the  affairs  of  the  English  drama ;  or  rather 
in  the  affairs  of  that  curious  hotchpotch  which,  being 
collectively  exhibited  in  some  twenty-five  fashionable, 
expensive  West-end  theatres,  is  supposed  to  be  our 
national  English  drama. 

A  fearless  and  admirable  letter  from  Mr.  John  Hare 
in  the  Times,  briefly  sketching  and  bewailing  our  present 
sorry  plight,  has  been  endorsed  by  an  imposing  array 
of  notable  names — a  bishop  to  head  the  list ;  a  few 
august  literary  persons ;  our  leading  actor-managers, 
with  three  English  playwrights  piously  and  respectfully 
following  in  their  train  ;  two  or  three  leading  lights  in 
science;  two  or  three  eminent  artists;  a  sprinkling  of 
social  celebrities ;  and  various  other  personages  all 
of  credit  and  renown  in  their  different  ways — altogether 
a  very  weighty  and  representative  assembly,  furnishing 
abundant  evidence  that  amongst  all  classes  of  cultivated 


RECOGNITION  OF  DRAMA  BY  THE  STATE   99 

Englishmen  a  benevolent,  if  vague,  conviction  is  spread- 
ing that  "  something  must  be  done  !  "     But  what  ? 

I  cannot  help  regretting  that  the  alarm  has  been 
sounded  to  help  and  save  the  English  stage,  rather  than 
to  help  and  save  the  English  drama.  For  this  way  of 
putting  the  matter  implies  that  the  English  drama  is  in 
itself  so  inconsiderable  and  negligible  a  thing  that  for 
all  practical  purposes  it  may  be  said  to  be  summed  up 
and  contained  in  the  English  stage,  as  the  greater  con- 
tains the  less.  If  this  absorption  of  the  English  drama 
in  the  English  stage  be  affirmed  as  a  present-day  in- 
disputable fact,  it  must  be  asked,  "  Is  not  the  virtual 
subserviency  of  our  drama  to  our  stage  the  great 
indirect  cause  of  all  our  ills  ?  "  If  it  be  affirmed  as  an 
eternal  predestined  necessity  that  the  English  drama 
shall  always  be  absorbed  in,  and  confused  with,  the 
English  stage,  then  we  must  challenge  the  statement  in 
the  plainest  and  strongest  way ;  and  we  must  point  to 
France,  where,  the  drama  being  recognized  and  honoured 
as  a  distinct  literary  art,  its  intellectual  and  artistic  level 
is  thereby  immeasurably  raised ;  while  the  intellectual 
and  artistic  level  of  the  French  theatre  is  necessarily 
raised  in  association  with  the  drama.  In  England,  having 
no  national  drama,  what  can  be  the  real  value  of  our 
theatre  ? 

But  it  may  be  that  in  sounding  this  rallying  cry,  the 
mistake  of  considering  the  English  drama  as  the  mere 
creature  and  instrument  of  the  English  stage  has  been 
made  unconsciously,  through  mere  inattention.  But  is 
not  that  just  the  mistake  that  the  great  body  of  English 
playgoers  make,  and  is  not  that  just  the  way  they  make 
it?  It  is  all  lightly  taken,  and  swallowed,  and  dismissed 
as  a  mere  entertainment.  And  hence  we  have  no  English 
drama. 

I  hope  I  shall  not  be  misunderstood  or  misrepre- 
sented in  this  matter.  I  am  not  decrying  the  great  and 
noble  art  of  acting.  I  have  benefited  too  much,  and 
suffered  too  much,  not  to  be  aware  how  great  an  artist 


loo   FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

a  great  actor  is,  and  that  without  him  the  dramatist  is 
a  helpless,  gibbering  shade.  Surely  none  can  sufficiently 
value  and  praise  the  actor,  except  the  author.  And  for 
myself,  words  cannot  convey  the  deep  gratitude  1  have 
to  some  of  my  interpreters. 

But  gratitude  and  courtesy  cannot  away  with  the 
fact  that  if  we  are  to  make  any  advance,  either  in  the 
art  of  acting  or  the  art  of  the  drama,  they  must  be 
generally  recognized  as  distinct  arts,  and  their  relations 
to  each  other  must  be  clearly  perceived.  At  present 
the  great  majority  of  playgoers  do  not  at  all  distinguish 
between  the  art  of  acting,  and  the  art  of  the  drama;  nor 
do  they  ever  think  of  a  play  as  a  separate  organism,  as 
something  quite  distinct  from  any  one  of  its  many 
possible  varying  interpretations.  Now,  though  we 
cannot  have  a  great  national  drama  without  a  body 
of  highly  trained  and  intellectual  actors,  yet  still  less 
can  we  have  any  great  or  intellectually  effective  acting 
without  the  material  to  work  upon.  And  granted  that 
we  have  much  to  seek  both  in  the  matter  of  plays  and 
of  acting,  yet  as  the  play  must  be  written,  before  actors, 
scene-painters,  and  carpenters  can  get  to  w'ork  at  all, 
surely  the  English  stage  can  only  be  helped  and  saved 
when,  and  after,  and  inasmuch  as  the  English  drama  is 
first  helped  and  saved.  That  is  to  say,  the  whole  ques- 
tion of  having  a  living  English  national  drama  depends 
upon  first  catching  your  dramatists,  upon  giving  them 
the  best  and  most  highly  trained  acting  talent,  and  then 
allowing  them  free  scope.  And  any  helping  or  saving 
the  English  stage  upon  the  condition  that  it  is  a  cor- 
porate entity  containing  that  negligible  and  incon- 
siderable thing,  the  English  drama,  can  only  give  us 
a  few  more  exploits  in  acting,  of  no  more  permanent 
value  or  influence  than  the  exploits  of  an  acrobat. 

I  have  touched  .this  point  at  starting,  and  I  have 
pressed  it  home  with  some  vehemence,  because  it  is 
really  the  key  of  the  whole  situation.  And  there  is  no 
issue  out  of  our  present  difficulties  except  by  the  way  it 


RECOGNITION  OF  DRAMA  BY  THE  STATE   loi 

opens  to  us.  I  am  writing  in  no  carping  spirit,  and 
surely  with  no  desire  except  to  further  a  most  apt  and 
timely  movement,  a  movement  most  generously  con- 
ceived and  launched,  a  movement  that  if  rightly  pursued 
promises  to  be  of  the  greatest  advantage  both  to  the 
English  drama  and  the  English  stage.  But  if  it  is  to  be 
effective,  it  must  be  pursued  on  a  clear  understanding 
of  the  whole  matter. 

For  many  a  long  day  the  impression  has  prevailed, 
and  still  prevails  amongst  the  great  body  of  playgoers, 
that  the  English  drama  is  the  instrument,  and  creature, 
and  tributary,  and  appurtenance  of  the  English  stage. 
This  assumption  governs  all  matters  relating  jointly 
to  the  drama  and  the  stage  :  it  is  apparent  in  the  form 
and  wording  of  the  letter  I  am  now  discussing ;  it  is 
the  darling  axiom  of  many  of  our  leading  actors  ;  it  is 
the  sheet-anchor  of  our  whole  present  system  ;  it  is  the 
fetish  of  a  very  considerable  portion  of  the  press ;  it  is 
ingrained  in  the  public  opinion  of  the  country.  Then 
why  be  so  foolhardy  as  to  combat  it?  Because,  until  it 
is  combated  and  overthrown,  there  can  be  no  sure 
standing-ground  for  any  English  drama,  let  alone  any 
advance  for  the  English  stage  or  the  English  drama. 

Now  I  do  not  say  that  this  impression,  namely,  that 
the  English  drama  is  the  instrument,  and  creature,  and 
tributary,  and  appurtenance  of  the  English  stage— I  do 
not  say  that  this  impression  has  been  altogether  un- 
reasonable, or  even  untrue  during  the  past  generation. 
There  have  surely  been  sufficient  reasons  for  it.  And 
so  far  as  it  has  been  a  witness  to  great  aims,  great 
ambitions,  and  in  some  cases  to  great  impersonations, 
one  can  very  cordially  sympathize  with  it. 

And,  for  love  of  sweet  peace,  one  would  be  only  too 
glad  to  subscribe  to  it,  and  to  march  at  its  festivals, 
dutifully  cheering  and  shouting  with  the  crowd,  if  only 
it  led  to  our  desired  goal,  the  establishment  of  a  great, 
living,  English  acted  drama.  But  where  has  this  root 
idea  led  us  ?    What  has  been  the  issue  of  it  ?    That  it 


102    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

has  failed  to  create  or  foster  a  satisfactory  English 
stage,  or  a  satisfactory  Enghsh  drama,  is  sufficiently 
evident  from  a  single  glance  at  the  present  state  of 
things. 

It  has  failed.  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that.  But 
has  it  failed  victoriously  ?  There  is  no  quickener  like 
the  spilt  blood  of  a  lost  cause.  Has  this  lost  cause 
sown  mandrakes  anywhere  to  spring  up  again  and 
shake  and  fertilize  these  clods,  this  dry,  dead  stubble  of 
modern  English  life  ?  Has  the  idea  of  the  domination 
of  the  English  drama  by  the  English  stage  left  any  sign, 
or  monument,  or  result,  except  one  or  two  deservedly 
great  personal  reputations  ?  What  has  it  done  even  for 
the  English  stage  as  distinct  from  the  English  drama  ? 
Has  any  school  of  acting  been  founded  ?  Have  not  the 
remains  of  the  old  school  dwindled  and  vanished  under 
its  influence?  Have  any  great  traditions  been  estab- 
lished, except  the  traditions  of  careful  and  beautiful 
mounting  and  mise  en  scene?  Is  the  acting  in  the 
London  revivals  of  our  classic  and  poetic  drama  on 
a  level  with  the  average  performances  of  municipal 
theatres  on  the  Continent?  Does  London  get  a  chance 
of  seeing  as  much  Shakespeare,  and  that  as  well  acted, 
as  many  small  German  towns?  With  the  greatest 
number  and  the  most  expensive  theatres  in  the  world, 
has  the  public  taste  been  really  raised  at  all,  or  raised 
to  anything  except  to  universal  musical  comedy?  Has 
it  not  become  increasingly  difficult  for  an  English  play- 
wright to  cast  adequately  any  serious  work?  (I  class 
modern  comedy  as  serious  work.)  Have  not  our  lead- 
ing actors  become  more  and  more  dissociated  from  our 
leading  playwrights,  to  the  great  disadvantage  of  our 
employer,  the  public  ?  Does  not  this  dissociation  tend 
to  become  more  marked,  as  the  idea  that  the  English 
drama  is  part  and  parcel  of  the  English  stage  becomes 
more  deeply  fixed  in  the  public  mind  ?  Has  it  not 
become  almost  vain  to  hope  that  any  play  containing 
great  emotions,  or  wide  views  of  life,  will  be  written  at 


RECOGNITION  OF  DRAMA  BY  THE  STATE    103 

all ;  or  if  written,  will  be  produced  ;  or  if  produced,  will 
be  played  in  such  a  great  and  convincing  manner  as  to 
be  successful,  or  even  to  escape  a  perhaps  derisive 
failure  ?  And  is  not  this  state  of  things  the  direct  and 
inevitable  result  of  our  present  system,  based  as  it  is  on 
the  prevalent  idea  that  the  English  drama  is  the  creature, 
and  instrument,  and  tributary,  and  appurtenance  of  the 
English  stage — an  idea  that  for  the  most  part  allows  the 
great  playgoing  public  to  rest  perfectly  satisfied  when 
its  favourite  actor  has  scored  a  personal  success,  irre- 
spective of  the  permanent  value  and  meaning  and 
intellectual  quality  of  the  play  ? 

It  will  be  noticed  that  I  have  gone  behind  the  course 
of  events  and  the  apparent  facts,  and  that  I  have  searched 
for  the  governing  idea  that  has  shaped  the  recent  history 
of  the  English  stage  and  the  English  drama.  I  think  it 
will  be  difficult  for  anyone  to  dispute  that  the  present 
situation  has  been  largely  shaped  by  this  main  idea  in 
the  public  mind,  the  idea  everywhere  carefully  fostered, 
that  the  English  drama  is  the  instrument  of  the  English 
stage. 

Is  that  idea  to  be  perpetuated?  Is  it  to  be  tacitly 
adopted  and  made  the  basis  of  our  future  action  ?  Is  it 
to  underlie  our  proposed  reforms?  Is  it  to  be  the 
accepted  principle  that  is  to  govern  the  future  relations 
of  the  English  drama  and  the  English  theatre  ? 

Because,  if  that  be  so,  I  take  the  liberty  of  telling  my 
illustrious  co-signatories  that  we  may  spare  ourselves 
any  further  trouble  either  of  signing  or  of  doing,  for  the 
end  of  our  reforms  will  find  us  pretty  much  where  we 
are ;  the  cart,  stuck  persistently  in  front  of  the  horse, 
will  only  have  pushed  the  horse  a  little  further  down 
the  hill  into  a  little  deeper  mire. 

I  think  I  see  a  little  cherub  sitting  up  aloft  and 
mocking  at  my  illustrious  co-signatories,  bishops,  emi- 
nent literary  personages,  actor-managers  and  all. 

Nowi  granted  that  the  situation  is  as  it  has  been 
sketched  for  us,  and  as  it   has  been  accepted   by  my 


I04    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

illustrious  co-signatories,  we  are  much  like  the  lepers 
outside  Samaria ;  things  can  scarcely  come  to  a  worse 
pass  with  us  whatever  we  do,  or  wherever  we  go. 

Perhaps  a  suggestion  may  be  welcome.  Seeing  that 
it  is  ideas  that  prompt  action  and  shape  history,  perhaps 
it  will  be  wise  if  we  begin  with  an  idea,  and  base  our 
reforms  on  that.  And  seeing  that  the  present  governing 
idea  in  the  English  playgoing  mind,  namely,  the  idea 
that  the  English  drama  is  the  creature,  and  instrument, 
and  tributary,  and  appurtenance  of  the  English  stage, 
has  been  found  not  to  work;  and  is,  indeed,  largely 
responsible  for  the  present  impasse  ;  suppose  we  try  to 
foster  the  alternative  idea,  namely,  that  the  English 
stage  is,  or  should  be,  the  instrument  of  the  English 
drama.  Suppose  we  put  the  horse  in  front  of  the  cart. 
I  know  it  is  a  violent,  nay,  a  revolutionary  proceeding, 
but  I  think  it  will  be  found  to  be  fruitful.  At  any  rate, 
let  us  try  how  it  works. 

Again  I  will  beg  not  to  be  misunderstood.  I  am  not 
trying  to  depreciate  the  actor's  art.  I  am  not  trying  to 
belittle  the  men  who,  in  a  time  of  great  difficulty  and 
transition,  and  of  low  artistic  ideals,  have  done  very 
hard  and  valuable  work,  and  have  helped  to  save  the 
English  drama  from  utter  extinction. 

No,  it  is  our  system  that  is  to  blame;  and  not  the 
men  who  work  it  in  many  cases  with  conspicuous 
devotion,  and  certainly  with  as  much  self-sacrifice  as  can 
be  expected  from  average  human  nature. 

But  that  the  system  is  a  bad  one  is  proved  by  the 
situation  it  has  created.  It  is  a  bad  one  because  it 
places  the  responsibility  for  the  English  drama  upon 
the  actor.  Why  should  a  leading  actor  encourage  the 
English  drama?  It  is  surely  not  to  his  interest  to  pro- 
duce English  plays  if  ready-made  French  ones,  that  will 
provide  him  with  a  leading  part,  can  be  bought  outright 
and  adapted  for  a  small  sum.  Nor  is  it  to  his  interest  to 
train  and  school  a  large  body  of  capable  actors,  who 
would,  indeed,  be  of  immense  value  to  the  dramatist  and 


RECOGNITION  OF  DRAMA  BY  THE  STATE    105 

to  the  drama,  but  who  can  only  work  with  the  idea  and 
the  ambition  of  competing  with  him,  the  leading  actor, 
for  one  of  the  four  or  five  leading  positions  on  the 
English  stage.  Nor  is  it  really  in  furtherance  of  the 
actor's  legitimate  ambition  that  great  English  plays 
should  be  produced  at  all,  otherwise  than  as  they  may 
happen  to  provide  a  strong  or  showy  leading  part 
for  himself  Very  often,  perhaps  most  frequently,  the 
greatest  acting  successes  are  made  in  plays  that,  outside 
their  acting  opportunities,  are  quite  worthless.  Can 
anything  be  more  childish  or  contemptible  or  absurd 
than  the  pieces  in  which  some  of  our  favourite  actors 
have  scored  their  greatest  personal  successes  ?  And 
the  first  question  for  a  leading  actor  must  always  be, 
nay,  rightly  and  naturally  should  be,  not  "  Is  this  a 
great  or  a  fine  play  ?  "  but  "  How  far  can  I  score  here, 
and  keep  my  leading  position  ? "  Therefore,  if  the 
English  drama  has  been  kept  alive  at  all,  it  has  not  been 
because  of  our  system,  but  in  spite  of  it,  and  because 
one  or  two  of  our  managers  have  sometimes  risen 
superior  to  it. 

And  now  at  last  we  have  come  to  the  moment  when 
it  is  plain  to  everybody  that  the  system  is  not  working, 
and  cannot  be  got  to  work ;  and  that  if  the  English 
drama  and  the  English  stage  are  to  be  kept  alive  in  our 
midst,  if  the  golden  leisure  and  evening  hours  of  the 
English  people  are  not  to  be  wasted  in  the  emptiest, 
tawdriest  tomfoolery;  if  this  is  to  be  avoided  "some- 
thing must  be  done  ! "     But  what  ? 

Again  I  submit  that  no  progress  can  be  made  till 
the  horse  is  put  before  the  cart.  Again  I  submit  that 
all  attempts  at  reform  will  be  useless  till  we  have 
changed  the  root  idea  that  insensibly  and  unconsciously 
guides  English  playgoing — namely,  that  the  English 
drama  is  the  negligible  and  inconsiderable  appurtenance 
of  the  English  theatre.  Till  that  root  idea  is  changed, 
till  the  English  drama  is  recognized  and  judged  as  a 
distinct  literary  art,  the  little  cherub  who  sits  aloft,  with 


io6    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

his  telescope   searching  the   earth   for   solemn   farces, 
merely  mocks  and  grins  at  us,  mocks  and  grins. 

I  have  suggested  what  seems  to  me  to  be  the  root 
idea  that  should  inform  and  direct  any  action  that  may 
be  taken  in  the  matter — namely,  the  idea  that  the  English 
drama  should  be  recognized  and  judged  as  a  distinct 
literary  art,  as  it  is  in  France. 

But  is  it  not  already  so  recognized  and  judged? 
Inevitably,  if  an  educated  man  by  chance  goes  to  the 
theatre,  he  must  taste  the  quality  of  the  stuff  that  is 
put  before  him.  And  to  this  extent  we  are,  of  course, 
inevitably  judged.  But  this  judgment  is  not  in  any  way 
operative.  The  mischief  of  our  present  system  lies 
here — an  English  serious  dramatist  is  scarcely  judged 
at  all  by  the  quality  of  his  work.  If  he  writes  down 
to  any  supposed  low  level  in  his  audience  or  to  any 
supposed  incapacity  in  his  interpreters,  he  is  instantly 
judged  by  a  high  standard,  and  condemned.  Rightly 
judged,  rightly  condemned,  since  there  can  be  neither 
reason  nor  excuse  for  writing  down  to  anything  or 
anybody. 

But  what  happens  when  he  does  his  best  ?  By  the 
great  general  playgoing  public  the  English  dramatist  is 
classed  and  judged  simply  as  an  amusement-monger, 
and  he  succeeds  or  fails  solely  on  that  level ;  and  if  he 
does  not  succeed  on  that  level  he  is  anathema  maranatha 
all  round,  since  literature  will  not  stretch  out  a  hand  to 
save  or  comfort  him.  English  literature  disdains  and 
disowns  us,  and  is  for  the  most  part  soured  with  a  silly 
jealousy  of  us  ;  and  is  perked  up  with  a  silly  pride  in  its 
own  fine  outer  raiment  of  style  ;  not  knowing,  and  not 
caring  to  know,  and,  indeed,  refusing  to  know,  that 
English  play-writing  is  the  most  toilsome,  the  most 
anxious,  the  most  subtle  form  of  English  literature. 
Let  me  go  further,  and,  without  trailing  my  coat  or 
biting  my  thumb  at  anybody,  make  what  will  appear  to 
be  the  monstrous  assertion  that  good  play-writing  is 
the  most  fastidious  form  of  literature.      But  it  is  really 


RECOGNITION  OF  DRAMA  BY  THE  STATE    107 

as  a  mere  amusement-monger  that  the  English  play- 
wright is  judged;  on  that  level  and  by  that  measure 
does  he  stand  or  fall. 

Therefore  it  is  that,  again  and  again,  I  point  out  to 
my  illustrious  co-signatories  that  no  action  we  may  take 
can  be  effectual  to  our  end  until  we  have  passed  every- 
where into  general  currency  amongst  playgoers  the 
idea  I  have  suggested,  namely,  this — that  the  English 
drama  is  not,  and  ought  not  to  be,  the  creature,  and 
instrument,  and  tributary,  and  appurtenance  of  the 
English  stage ;  it  is  not,  and  ought  not  to  be,  the  pur- 
veyor of  cheap  and  tawdry  entertainment ;  it  is  the 
fine  and  literary  art  which  portrays  and  interprets,  or 
attempts  to  portray  and  interpret,  English  life.  And 
the  English  stage  will  be  a  power  in  English  life  to  the 
exact  extent,  and  in  the  exact  proportion,  to  which  it  is 
recognized  to  be  the  instrument  of  the  English  drama. 
That  is  the  idea  which  must  be  the  mainspring  of  any 
effective  action. 

Surely  nobody  can  have  subscribed  to  Mr.  Hare's 
welcome  letter  more  cordially  than  myself.  More  than 
twenty  years  ago,  in  September,  1883,  I  wrote  in  this 
Review : 


Thus,  on  inquiring  why  we  have  no  national  drama 
at  all  worthy  of  the  name,  we  are  met  first  of  all  by  the 
fact  that  the  drama  is  not  merely  an  art  but  a  popular 
amusement,  in  a  different  sense  from  that  in  which 
poetry,  music,  and  painting  are  popular  amusements. 
The  drama  is  an  art,  but  it  is  also  a  competitor  of  music- 
halls,  circuses,  Madame  Tussaud's,  the  Westminster 
Aquarium,  and  the  Argyll  Rooms.  It  is  a  hybrid,  an 
unwieldy  Siamese  twin  with  two  bodies,  two  heads,  two 
minds,  two  dispositions,  all  of  them,  for  the  present, 
vitally  connected.  And  one  of  these  two  bodies,  dramatic 
art,  is  lean  and  pinched  and  starving,  and  has  to  drag 
about  with  it  wherever  it  goes  its  fat,  puffy,  unwhole- 
some, dropsical  brother,  popular  amusement.  And 
neither  of  them  goes  its  own  proper  way  in  the  world 
to  its  own  proper  end,  but  they  twain  twaddle  on  in  a 


io8    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

path  that  leads  nowhere  in  particular,  the  resultant  of 
their  several  luggings  and  tuggings  at  each  other. 

Well,  that  is  what  I  have  been  saying  in  another  way 
in  this  present  article.  For  saying  it  in  different  ways  I 
have  naturally  met  with  constant  abuse  and  depreciation 
from  all  whose  game  and  interest  it  is  to  perpetuate  the 
present  sterile  and  unholy  alliance  between  the  English 
drama  and  popular  entertainment.  But  now  it  seems 
that  a  great  body  of  cultivated  opinion  in  the  country 
has  turned  over  to  the  same  way  of  thinking  as  myself. 
For  what  else  is  the  meaning  of  the  present  movement, 
backed  up  by  all  these  powerful  and  illustrious  signa- 
tures ?  If  that  movement  means  anything  beyond  sign- 
ing a  paper,  if  it  is  to  be  pursued  to  any  effective  end, 
it  means  the  separation  of  the  English  drama  from 
popular  entertainment,  and  its  recognition  as  a  literary 
art.  If  that  idea,  which  is  virtually  the  idea  I  have  been 
trying  to  enforce  all  through  this  paper,  if  that  idea  is 
not  to  be  made  the  basis  of  our  action,  then  the  sardonic 
cherub  still  sits  above  and  mocks  us,  mocks  and  grins, 
mocks  and  grins.  But  with  that  idea  firmly  fixed  in  our 
minds,  with  that  definite  object  in  view,  we  may  go  on 
to  inquire  what  course  of  action  can  be  taken  in  accord- 
ance with  it. 

Two  main  proposals  have  been  thrown  out  in  a 
broad  indefinite  way.  One  is  that  a  school  of  acting 
shall  be  forthwith  established ;  the  second  and  far  more 
important  proposal  is  that  we  shall  have  a  subsidized 
theatre.  The  advocates  of  a  subsidized  theatre  would 
doubtless  agree  that  it  should  include  a  school  of  acting. 
The  foundation  of  a  school  of  acting  is  a  very  small 
and  easy  business  compared  with  the  endowment  of  a 
theatre.  It  may  be  convenient  to  consider  the  smaller 
proposal  first. 

What  does  a  school  of  acting  mean?  Already  we 
have  several  schools  of  acting,  where  pupils  are  trained 
in   elocution,   and   after   some    months   of  lessons   are 


RECOGNITION  OF  DRAMA  BY  THE  STATE    109 

allowed  to  play  a  part  in  an  amateur  sort  of  a  way  at  a 
minor  theatre.  Evidently  in  itself  a  school  of  acting  is 
not  a  sure  means  of  salvation  for  the  English  stage. 
Indeed,  schools  of  acting,  though  valuable  enough  so 
far  as  they  go,  are  part  of  our  present  very  bad  system 
of  training  actors.  Let  me  explain,  or  rather  illustrate, 
what  that  very  bad  system  is. 

A  young  man  decided  to  become  an  actor.  He  was 
advised  to  go  to  one  of  these  schools  of  acting.  He 
went,  and  studied  there  for  twelve  months,  doubtless 
getting  some  benefit  therefrom,  but  having  no  oppor- 
tunities of  playing  before  the  public.  At  the  end  of 
twelve  months  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  'a 
speaking  part  of  three  lines  in  a  provincial  company. 
He  played  those  three  lines  for  two  tours,  that  is,  for 
about  thirty-five  weeks  of  the  year.  He  was  then  fortu- 
nate enough  to  obtain  a  more  important  speaking  part 
of  some  ten  or  twelve  lines,  and  this  he  played  for 
another  year.  That  is,  at  the  end  of  three  years  he  had 
not  had  a  quarter  of  the  practice  in  his  art  that  he  would 
necessarily  have  had  in  a  single  week  under  the  old 
stock  system.  Added  to  this,  the  mechanical  repetition 
of  an  empty  part,  night  after  night,  must  have  had  a 
debilitating  effect  not  only  on  his  acting  powers,  but  on 
all  his  mental  activities.  Then  again,  the  absence  of  an 
absorbing  occupation  left  him  with  all  the  day  at  leisure 
for  loafing  about  in  provincial  towns. 

Take  another  illustration.  I  had  occasion  to  call  at 
the  theatre  of  a  London  manager.  I  found  him  in  his 
private  room,  carefully  going  over  and  over  the  words 
and  business  of  a  part  with  a  leading  performer  ;  correct- 
ing false  accents,  training  the  voice,  giving  instruction 
in  the  elements  of  elocution.  That  leading  performer 
had  already  played  that  part  for  more  than  a  hundred 
nights  at  a  West  End  Theatre,  and  had  received  enthusi- 
astic praises  from  the  whole  of  the  London  press. 

These  are  not  very  extreme  cases ;  they  are  not 
unfair    examples   of  our   present   system    for   training 


no    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

recruits  in  the  enormously  difficult  art  and  business  of 
acting.  Could  the  worst  enemy  of  the  English  stage 
and  the  English  drama  conceive  a  system  more  ingeni- 
ously planned  to  make  great  acting,  and  therefore  the 
successful  production  of  great  plays,  an  impossibility 
on  our  boards  ?  So  that  we  have  rightly  come  to  per- 
ceive that  our  present  system  of  training  actors  is  not 
merely  hopelessly  bad  and  ineffective — it  is  frankly 
ridiculous  and  farcical. 

It  must,  however,  be  stated  that  in  the  photographic 
and  phonographic  reproduction  of  the  little  mannerisms 
and  the  small  actualities  of  the  street,  the  club,  or  the 
drawing-room,  we  have  many  fine  artists  on  our  English 
stage.  It  is  when  we  ask  for  some  adequate  portrayal 
of  parts  that  demand  emotion,  sustained  and  accom- 
plished elocution,  breadth,  power,  fire,  imagination, 
intellectual  divination — it  is  then  that  we  discover  our 
abject  poverty.  And  this  increasing  impoverishment  of 
our  stage  is  the  necessary  result  of  a  system  that  does  not 
afford  to  the  actors  who  potentially  possess  these  higher 
gifts  any  opportunity  of  learning  how  to  exercise  them. 

And  now  it  is  proposed  to  start  another  school  of 
acting.  If  it  is  to  get  us  out  of  our  present  troubles,  it 
is  clear  that  it  must  be  an  entirely  different  school  of 
acting  from  those  we  already  have.  The  only  schools 
of  acting  that  have  rendered  any  conspicuous  service  to 
our  present  stage  have  been  those  of  the  late  Sarah 
Thorne,  Mr.  Benson,  and  Mr.  Ben  Greet.  And  the 
reason  that  these  schools  have  trained  some  valuable 
actors  and  actresses  is  that,  in  addition  to  lessons  in 
elocution,  they  have  given  their  pupils  the  opportunity 
of  constantly  playing  and  constantly  failing  in  big  parts. 
This  is  the  only  school  that  in  the  end  makes  valuable 
actors  and  actresses.  The  school  we  need  is  one  that 
gives  all  promising  young  actors  and  actresses  the 
chance  of  constantly  grinding  and  sharpening  their  teeth 
on  great  parts.  I  repeat  that  it  is  daily  practice  before 
the  public  in  constantly  varied  parts  that  makes  actors 


RECOGNITION  OF  DRAMA  BY  THE  STATE     iii 

and  actresses.  This  it  is  which  gives  the  actor  com- 
mand over  his  latent  forces ;  gives  character,  flexibility, 
resource ;  develops  that  power  of  holding  and  sustaining 
a  play  to  the  end  which  to-day  is  not  possessed  by  six 
English  actors.  While  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  the 
majority  of  these  six  were  nurtured  in  the  old  school. 
And  to  find  some  means  of  giving  this  constant  and 
varied  practice  to  all  promising  recruits  must  surely  be 
our  first  step,  if  any  step  is  to  be  taken  at  all. 

But  it  will  be  pointed  out  that  the  question  of  giving 
our  actors  varied  practice  is  intimately  connected  with 
another  question,  namely,  the  long  runs  of  plays.  Nay, 
it  may  be  said  that  the  two  questions  merge  into  one. 
Well,  there  is  no  doubt  that  long  runs  are  a  great  evil. 
They  benefit  nobody  except  the  author  and  the  manager. 
They  are  an  evil  to  the  actor  for  the  reasons  already 
given.  They  are  a  great  grievance  to  playgoers,  since 
long  runs  are  responsible  for  the  disgraceful  fact  that 
London  playgoers  only  get  the  chance  of  seeing  one,  or 
perhaps  two,  of  our  Shakespearean  and  classic  master- 
pieces in  the  course  of  a  year.  To  the  manager  they 
are  of  course  a  godsend.  In  these  days  and  under  our 
present  system  long  runs  are  a  necessity  to  the  manager 
if  he  is  to  keep  his  head  above  water  at  all.  To  the 
author  long  runs  off'er  a  welcome  breathing  time.  The 
English  playwright  of  to-day  has  to  face  so  many 
chances  and  accidents  of  production ;  so  great  are  the 
interests  at  stake;  so  uncertain  are  the  factors;  so 
difficult  it  is  even  when  the  play  is  written  to  place  it 
with  the  right  manager,  to  get  the  right  interpreters,  to 
catch  a  happy  mood  in  the  public  and  the  press,  and  to 
meet  the  hundred  other  contingencies — such  a  lottery  it 
all  seems,  that  when  at  last  by  great  luck  a  play  has 
got  home  and  is  drawing  our  great  public,  it  would 
appear  to  be  nothing  less  than  madness  to  withdraw  it 
for  no  reason,  and  again  to  venture  into  the  perilous 
paths  of  production.  And  while  plays  are  regarded  as 
mere  entertainments,  and  are  neither  studied,  nor  read, 


112    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

nor  examined,  nor  thought  of  in  any  way  except  as 
mere  pastime  for  a  careless  public  ;  while  it  remains 
almost  certain  that  at  the  end  of  the  run  the  play  will 
go  into  dust  and  oblivion  along  with  the  faded  scenery 
and  the  faded  dresses,  why  should  an  author  consent  to 
the  curtailment  of  the  run  ?  He  gains  nothing ;  he 
exposes  himself  to  accusing  sneers  of  failure ;  he 
weakens  his  own  resources  and  damages  his  reputation 
with  playgoers.  None  the  less  it  is  certain  that  long 
runs  are  an  evil.  They  cannot  eventually  benefit  even 
the  author,  since  as  we  have  seen  they  are  the  one  great 
means  of  defrauding  him  of  capable  interpreters. 

But  surely  it  would  be  an  immense  advantage  to  our 
drama  that  a  modern  successful  play  should  be  inter- 
preted by  the  various  companiesof  our  different  theatres, 
and  by  our  different  leading  actors  and  actresses.  What 
new  lights  would  be  thrown  on  the  play !  In  many 
cases  how  curiously  protean  an  organism  would  be 
revealed !  How  it  would  help  to  destroy  the  notion  so 
injurious  to  the  dramatist  that  a  ^ play  once  given  by 
certain  performers  is  then  and  there  stereotyped,  that 
characters  once  played  by  actors  are  then  and  there 
"  created  !  "  Above  all,  what  vigorous  emulation,  what 
life,  what  natural  healthy  ambition  and  competition  it 
would  bring  into  our  theatres!  To-day  if  by  any  acci- 
dent or  mistake  of  production  a  play  happens  to  fail,  it 
is  a  dead  thing,  out  of  mind  evermore.  Almost  as  bad 
a  fate  awaits  it  if  it  prove  a  success,  for  then  by  the 
etiquette  of  our  English  stage  it  is  supposed  to  be 
sealed  and  assured  to  the  leading  actor  who  has  pro- 
duced it.  Why  should  not  a  healthy,  friendly  rivalry 
in  the  playing  of  modern  parts  be  the  rule  of  our 
stage?  In  France  a  very  large  number  of  the  leading 
modern  roles  have  been  played  by  nearly  all  the  leading 
actors  and  actresses.  Consider  the  number  of  lead- 
ing parts  that  have  been  played  by  Sarah  Bernhardt 
and  Rcjane,  after  having  been  played  by  other  leading 
actresses.      Why  should  not  this  excellent  custom  be 


RECOGNITION  OF  DRAMA  BY  THE  STATE    113 

introduced  on  our  English  stage  ?  By  its  means  our 
baneful  system  of  long  runs  would  be  broken  up,  and 
new  life  would  be  shot  into  every  limb  and  artery  of 
our  drama.  What  do  English  actors  say  to  my  proposal 
— I  mean  the  great  body  of  English  actors,  who  under 
our  present  system  spend  two-thirds  of  their  time  seek- 
ing engagements,  and  one-third  playing  the  same  role 
mechanically  night  after  night  ? 

But  if  we  cannot  hope  that  all  our  theatres  should 
play  a  repertory,  we  may  surely  hope  that  the  end  of 
all  this  cry  will  be  the  establishment  of  at  least  one 
repertory  theatre  in  London. 

The  second,  and  much  more  important,  proposal 
that  has  been  made  is  for  the  establishment  of  a  subsi- 
dized theatre.  Such  a  proposal  includes  the  first  pro- 
posal, since  such  a  theatre  would  naturally  undertake 
the  training  and  supervision  of  our  recruits.  A  few 
years  ago  I  deprecated  the  too  hasty  building  of  a 
national  theatre  out  of  the  modest  purses  of  some  six  or 
eight  of  "  us  youth,"  whose  chief  capital  was  our  love 
for  the  English  drama,  and  a  growing  conviction  that 
"  something  must  be  done  ! " 

But  we  have  made  great  progress  towards  a  national 
theatre  during  the  last  few  years ;  or  at  least  we  have 
made  great  progress  towards  the  necessity  for  a  National 
Theatre.  We  have  made  such  progress  that  we  seem  to 
be  irresistibly  and  instinctively  moving  towards  it, 
drawn  by  hands  that  we  cannot  see,  and  called  by 
whisperings  from  a  future  not  very  far  away.  I  am 
sure  that  the  establishment  of  a  National  Theatre  should 
be  the  fervent  hope,  the  object  of  every  actor's,  and 
every  dramatist's,  ambition.  And  if  we  can  once  get 
our  root  idea  to  catch  fire  and  blaze,  a  National  Theatre 
must  follow  as  the  night  the  day.  I  believe  it  is  coming. 
Our  great  care  must  be  to  see  that  no  abortive  or 
premature  attempt  is  made  to  start  it  on  wrong  lines,  or 
under  wrong  management,  or  without  sufficient  security. 
A  false  step  made  at  this  moment,  an  unworkable  scheme 

I 


114    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

started  in  a  crude  way,  blundering  along  for  a  few 
months  or  years  to  certain  disaster,  would  be  the 
greatest  misfortune  that  could  just  now  befall  the 
English  drama.  It  would  stand  for  a  generation  or  two 
as  a  monument  of  warning  against  future  attempts,  and 
would  give  perennial  food  to  scoffers  and  blasphemers. 
Therefore  a  thousand  times  better  no  attempt  at  all 
than  one  that  is  made  without  prevision,  and  without 
some  reasonable  assurance  of  success. 

What  are  the  conditions  of  success  for  a  National 
Theatre  ?  No  matter  how  largely  a  theatre  may  be 
endowed,  it  cannot  be  a  permanently  successful  institu- 
tion unless  : 

(i)  It  is  supported  by  and  becomes  the  natural  home 
of  our  leading  modern  playwrights.  A  building  in 
which  our  classical  masterpieces  were  played  to  the 
exclusion  of  modern  work  would  soon  become  a  dramatic 
museum. 

(2)  Nor  unless  those  playwrights  are  associated  with 
a  competent  body  of  trained  actors,  containing  a  fair 
proportion  of  players  whose  personalities,  as  well  as 
their  technique,  draw  the  public. 

(3)  Nor  unless  the  right  manager  were  found — a 
man  of  good  social  standing,  and  also  possessing  the 
necessary  literary,  theatrical,  and  business  knowledge 
and  qualifications. 

(4)  Nor  unless  it  were  made  a  National  Theatre  in  the 
true  sense ;  unless  all  fads,  schisms,  cliques,  and  little 
fussy  notoriety  seekers  were  kept  outside  its  portals. 

(5)  Unless  and  mainly,  unless  the  great  English  play- 
going  public  can  be  brought  to  take  an  interest  and  pride 
in  their  national  drama  as  a  fine  humane  art,  and  in  the 
building  and  institution  that  enshrine  it.  Here  we  strike 
back  into  our  root  idea — the  idea  that  the  best  and 
highest  pleasure  the  drama  can  offer  must  be  perceived 
to  be  an  intellectual  pleasure,  quite  distinct  in  kind  from 
the  pleasure  offered  by  mere  popular  entertainment.  I 
believe  there  is  growing  up  amongst  us  a  playgoing  public 


RECOGNITION  OF  DRAMA  BY  THE  STATE    115 

sufficiently  large  and  interested  to  support  an  institution 
founded  on  this  idea.  And  there  are  good  grounds 
for  hoping  that  if  it  were  wisely  conducted,  it  would 
eventually  become  self-supporting,  and  render  sufficient 
profit  to  secure  its  financial  stability  on  its  own  merits. 

There  are  different  ways  of  providing  the  money- 
guarantee  necessary  to  start  such  an  undertaking. 

A  good-natured  millionaire  might  possibly  be  per- 
suaded to  provide  the  funds.  Unfortunately  millionaires 
as  a  class  are  not  enthusiastic  lovers  of  the  drama  for  its 
own  sake.  They  manifest  strange  foibles  and  whims ; 
they  have  strange  notions  about  art  and  literature ;  they 
build  themselves  grotesque  and  futile  monuments  in 
the  inane  and  the  void.  But  I  am  of  opinion  that  if  any 
millionaire  wished  to  build  himself  a  lasting  monument 
in  the  affection  and  homage  of  the  English  people,  he 
could  not  find  a  surer  means  of  gratifying  his  ambition 
than  by  putting  down  the  money  to  build  and  endow  a 
National  Theatre. 

Again,  a  repertory  theatre  might  conceivably  be  sub- 
sidized by  the  London  County  Council.  I  should  like 
to  see  municipal  theatres  in  all  our  large  towns.  The 
present,  however,  does  not  seem  to  be  a  favourable 
moment  for  starting  them. 

The  remaining  way  is  that  a  National  Theatre  should 
be  built  and  fostered  by  the  government  of  England, 
with  the  approval  of  the  majority  of  English  citizens. 
It  seems  to  me  that  this  last  would  be  the  best,  the  most 
secure,  the  most  creditable  way  of  founding  a  National 
Theatre,  and  of  nurturing  a  great  and  popular  national 
drama.  I  believe  that  a  sum  of  public  money  so 
expended  would  be  one  of  the  wisest  and  most 
economical  investments  that  we  could  make.  It  would 
be  the  merest  fleabite  compared  with  the  vast  sums  that 
are  now  spent — nay,  that  in  many  cases  are  now  wasted 
— on  public  education.  And  yet  what  a  potent  educator 
a  National  Theatre  would  inevitably  become  if  it  were 
wisely  directed. 


u6    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

What  are  the  reasons  for  the  State  endowment  and 
State  recognition  of  the  drama  ?  They  are  precisely  the 
same  as  those  for  the  State  endowment  of  the  other  arts, 
music,  painting,  sculpture.  Indeed,  seeing  that  the 
drama  is  the  most  popular  of  all  the  arts,  and  the  most 
intimately  connected  with  the  daily  life  and  conduct  of 
the  citizens,  there  is  all  the  more  need  for  its  wise  re- 
cognition and  encouragement. 

The  reasons  for  the  encouragement  of  art  by  the 
State  could  not  be  set  forth  in  a  clearer  and  plainer  way 
than  has  been  recently  done  by  M.  Masse  in  the  Chambre 
des  Deputes.     He  said  : 

"  Mais  si  I'Etat  ne  fait  pas  I'art  qui  est  la  liberte,  la 
spontaneite  meme,  s'il  ne  pent  pretendre  au  role  de 
metteur  en  oeuvre,  s'il  ne  saurait  nous  donner  un  poete 
ou  un  statuaire  comme  il  nous  donne  un  sous-prefet,  s'il 
n'a  pas  a  fixer  une  esthetique  comme  il  formule  une  loi 
civile,  s'ensuit-il  qu'il  n'ait  rien  a  voir  avec  I'art  et  que 
celui-ci  n'ait  rien  a  en  attendre,  hors  de  n'etre  ni  maltraite 
ni  prosgrit  ? 

"  L'Etat  peut,  au  contraire,  concourir  indirectement  a 
la  production  de  belles  oeuvres. 

"Je  dirai  meme  qu'en  tant  qu'administrateur  des 
interets  generaux,  il  le  doit." 

And  again  : 

"  De  quelle  nature  est  done  en  matiere  d'art  la  fonction 
de  la  puissance? 

"A  coup  sur  elle  n'est  point  creatrice.  L'art  n'est 
pas  un  service  public  que  I'Etat  ait  mission  d'assurer. 
Sa  fonction  n'est  non  plus  ni  tutelaire,  ni  reglementaire, 
ni  de  controle,  ni  de  police.  Parfois  encore  aujourd'hui 
elle  a  ce  caractere,  mais  c'est  la  un  des  derniers  restes 
de  la  conception  qu'on  se  faisait  jadis  du  role  de  la 
puissance  en  matiere  d'art  et  elle  doit  perdre  ce  car- 
actere. 

"  La  fonction  de  I'Etat  est  essentiellement  une  fonc- 
tion auxiliaire  ;  il  ne  doit  ni  reglementer  l'art  ni  le  con- 
trOler,  mais  I'aider  ct  I'encourager.  C'est  une  modeste 
mais  utile  collaboration,  une  cooperation  feconde  entre 
toutes." 


RECOGNITION  OF  DRAMA  BY  THE  STATE   117 
And  further : 

"  L'Etat  doit,  par  I'education  et  par  I'enseignment, 
s'efforcer  de  rendre  le  Beau  accessible  a  la  generalite 
des  citoyens.  II  doit  aussi  chercher  a  developper  tout 
specialement  les  arts  qui,  grace  a  des  conditions  econo- 
miques  nouvelles,  pourront  etre  goutes  par  ceux  qui 
jusqu'a  la  avaient  considere  I'art  comme  un  luxe  coilteux 
et  hors  de  leur  portee.  Embellir  et  egayer  la  vie  de 
tous  les  citoyens,  meme  les  plus  humbles,  en  leur  don- 
nant  des  notions  d'esthetique  et  en  ornant  d'oeuvres 
simples  et  belles  tout  les  endroits  ou  se  rencontrent 
les  citoyens— ecoles,  mairies,  hopitaux,  salles  de  re- 
union et  de  conference — telle  est  la  conception  que 
doit  avoir  de  son  role,  en  ce  qui  concerne  les  arts,  une 
democratic." 

And  yet  again : 

*'  II  faut  encore  que  I'Etat  universalise  le  gout  pour 
penetrer  dans  les  masses,  la  notion  et  I'emotion  de  la 
beaute,  aujourd'hui  propriete  d'une  elite  orgueilleuse. 
Dans  ce  sens,  il  convient  d'insister  sur  la  creation  d'un 
theatre  populaire,  et  de  I'enseignment  theorique  des  arts 
a  I'ecole,  ainsi  que  sur  les  oeuvres  de  decentralisation 
artistiques." 

These  are  the  reasons  that  may  be  urged  and  re- 
urged  for  the  establishment  and  endowment  of  an 
English  National  Theatre  with  the  public  money.  What 
are  the  hindrances  ?  Who  are  the  hinderers  ?  It  can- 
not surely  be  the  amount  of  money  that  is  asked.  The 
little  State  of  Denmark  endows  its  national  theatre  with 
some  20,000/.  a  year.  Again,  see  the  sums  that  Puritan 
England  spends  on  its  other  enjoyments,  say  on  racing. 
Inquire  what  amount  the  English  theatre-going  public 
has  spent  on  musical  comedy  during  the  last  ten  years. 
Judging  from  some  reports  that  have  appeared,  at  a 
rough  estimate,  English  theatre-goers  must  have  spent 
on  musical  comedy  in  town  and  provinces  something  like 
five  or  six  millions  of  pounds  during  the  last  ten  years. 
That  is  to  say,  on  this  particular  form  of  popular  enter- 
tainment the  English  public  has,  in  a  few  years,  spent  a 


ii8     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

sum  sufficient  to  buy  an  entire  fleet ;  a  sum  that, 
capitalized,  would  bring  in  about  150,000/.  a  year,  or 
about  ten  times  the  sum  that  we  need  to  start  a  sane 
intellectual  drama.  Now  what  has  the  English  play- 
going  public  to  show  for  these  five  or  six  million  pounds  ? 
There  remain  a  few  charming  and  graceful  pieces  of 
music,  and  the  memory  of  much  pretty  dancing  and 
singing.  But  for  the  rest  ?  Does  anything  remain  at 
all  ?  A  single  line  to  quote  ?  A  single  vital  character  ? 
A  single  scene  that  faithfully  pictured  life  ?  A  single 
idea  one  would  care  to  recall  ?  A  single  permanent 
touch  with  humanity?  A  single  thing  that  the  manager 
or  author  can  claim  with  pride,  and  say  '  I  did  that '  ? 
And  five  or  six  million  pounds  have  gone !  And  all 
those  golden  evenings  of  leisure! 

O,  witless  debauch  of  grave,  religious  England !  O, 
converse  side  of  our  Puritan  buckler !  O,  under- 
garments of  prudery  !  O,  burden  of  bigotry  too  hard  to 
be  borne  !  O,  systole  !  O,  Exeter  Hall !  O,  diastole  ! 
O,  Leicester  Square !  O,  land  of  blind  and  bitter  fury 
against  the  drama!  O,  sanctimony!  O,  license!  O, 
botchery  of  all  our  holiday  hours  !     O,  nauseous  pie  ! 

It  has  been  rumoured,  with  some  apparent  foundation, 
that  there  are  secret  reasons  for  the  enormous  success 
of  these  entertainments  on  the  lowest  intellectual  level 
at  some  of  our  fashionable  theatres.  Facts  have  been 
vouched  for  which  seem  to  lend  some  colourable 
support  to  these  sinister  rumours.  In  giving  them  some 
sort  of  currency,  which  I  do  with  all  reserve  and  caution, 
I  must  carefully  guard  myself  from  all  suspicion  of 
malice  against  a  most  respectable  class — I  mean  the 
attendants  at  the  various  cloakrooms  of  our  theatres. 
If  they  have  been  partners  in  the  practice  which  it  is 
alleged  has  lately  become  prevalent  at  some  theatres, 
I  mean  the  practice  of  insisting  that  the  brains  of  each 
member  of  the  audience  shall  be  left  in  the  cloakroom 
with  the  other  impedimenta — if  the  cloakroom  attendants 
have  lent  themselves  to  this  practice,  and  in  conjunction 


RECOGNITION  OF  DRAMA  BY  THE  STATE    119 

with   clever  young  surgeons  are  actually  engaged  in 
working  it  every  night,  they  surely  cannot  have  been 
responsible  for  its  introduction.    The  custom  is  of  course 
very  profitable  to  the  theatre,  but  the  cloakroom  atten- 
dants can  reap  very  little  benefit  from  it,  since  I  believe 
that  in  no  case  is  a  higher  fee  charged  than  sixpence. 
Therefore  if  any  accident  should  occur  I  trust  the  blame 
will  not  belaid  on  the  cloakroom  attendants.     In  talking 
over  the  matter  with  the  eminent  surgeon,  Sir  Harvey 
Hunter,  I  congratulated  him  on  the  triumphant  march 
of  surgery  which  made  such  hasty  operations  possible. 
I  expressed,  however,  a  fear  that  some  very  serious 
injury  might  result  from  the  continuance  of  the  practice. 
He  assured  me  that  no  permanent  ill-effects  were  likely 
to  befall  the  frequenters  of  these  entertainments  from 
the  loss,  or  exchange,  or  misplacement  of  their  brains. 
Altogether  the  evidence  as  to  the  frequency  of  these 
practices  is  conflicting.     There  remain,  however,  certain 
authenticated  statementswhichareinexplicable,  except  on 
the  theory  that  the  operation  does  actually  take  place ; 
amongst  them  the  i  terrible  fact  that  one  young  gentle- 
man, who  seemed  to  be  quite  rational  in  other  respects, 
bragged  that  he  had  been  forty-six  times  to  one  of  these 
entertainments.      I  leave    the    matter    for    further    in- 
vestigation. 

Now,  if  things  are  followed  to  their  consequences,  it 
matters  little  to  our  final  pecuniary  position  as  a  nation, 
or  as  individuals,  whether  we  pay  this  three  or  four  or 
five  hundred  thousand  a  year  voluntarily,  or  at  the  quest 
of  the  tax-collector.  The  fact  for  us  to  ponder  is  that 
the  English  theatre-going  public  does  pay  this  enormous 
tax  for  what  is  allowed  to  be  a  very  childish  and  empty 
form  of  theatrical  entertainment.  It  is  absurd  to  say 
that  the  English  nation  could  not  afford  to  pay  once  for 
all  a  tenth  part  of  the  sum  to  foster  the  fine  and  humane 
art  of  the  drama.  It  would  be  a  mere  drop  in  the  ocean 
of  our  national  expenditure,  a  mere  tenth  of  our 
theatrical  expenditure. 


120    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

But  if  no  National  Theatre  can  be  established  at 
present,  it^still  remains  for  us  to  spread  our  root  idea 
among  English  playgoers.  Ideas  have  the  advantage  of 
being  quite  inexpensive. 

And  our  root  idea  is  this:  "The  separation  of  the 
English  drama  from  popular  amusement ;  its  recognition 
as  a  fine  literary  art,  which  is  not  and  cannot  be  the 
creature,  and  instrument,  and  tributary,  and  appurten- 
ance of  the  English  theatre."  This  idea,  diligently 
planted  among  English  playgoers,  will  take  root  and 
live  and  spread.  And  meantime  we  may  be  picking 
ourselves  out  of  our  present  slough,-  and  climbing  to 
some  little  hillock  of  vantage,  whence  we  may  look 
backward  to  the  distant  Elizabethan  range  with  its  peaks 
amongst  the  stars,  and  forward  to  the  shadowy  loom  of 
giant  heights  that  shall  be  scaled  in  days  to  come  by 
other  feet  than  ours. 

Note. — In  the  absence  of  any  recognition  of  the  Drama  by  the 
State,  I  have  supported  the  scheme  for  the  establishment  of  a 
Shakespeare  Memorial  Theatre  by  public  subscription.  In  the 
following  paper  I  have  given  reasons  for  doubting  whether  the 
present  enterprise  can  be  brought  to  a  successful  issue,  unless  it  is 
pursued  in  a  different  spirit,  and  on  other  lines.  The  movement 
should  be  controlled  by  men  of  letters,  who  have  also  a  practical 
knowledge  of  the  theatre.  Such  men  are  rare  in  England,  and  in 
their  absence  the  enterprise  seems  now  to  be  chiefly  directed  by 
energetic  ladies,  who  might  perhaps  be  more  usefully  and  suitably 
employed  in  organizing  a  Charity  bazaar.  I  have  outlined  a  plan 
which  may  serve  to  put  the  whole  undertaking  on  a  sure  basis. 
None  the  less  am  I  persuaded  that  it  is  the  business  of  the  govern- 
ment to  consider  the  great  importance  of  this  question ;  and  to 
supplement  the  funds  for  the  establishment  of  a  National  Theatre, 
as  a  wise  and  economical  expenditure  of  public  money. 


VIII 

THE   ENGLISH   NATIONAL  THEATRE 

August,  igi2. 

The  failure  of  the  American  National  Theatre  offers 
some  very  puzzling  and  thorny  questions  to  the  pro- 
moters of  the  English  scheme.  For  the  main  end  and 
aim  of  the  two  enterprises  were  the  same,  namely  to 
bring  the  drama  in  each  country  into  a  continuous 
understanding  and  alliance  with  literature. 

It  may  be  advisable  to  reaffirm  and  establish  this 
underlying  first  principle.  Doubtless  in  England,  as 
was  the  case  in  America,  many  of  the  promoters  of  a 
National  Theatre,  and  most  of  the  subscribers,  have 
given  their  sympathy  and  help  to  the  undertaking  with 
no  more  definite  idea  of  its  object  than  that  it  proposed 
in  some  vague  benevolent  way  to  "  elevate  the  drama." 
As  we  have  seen  (p.  73),  however,  when  we  ask  ourselves 
what  "elevating  the  drama"  really  means,  we  are  driven 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  can  mean  nothing  but  the  pro- 
duction of  such  plays  as  will  bear  the  test  of  reading  as 
well  as  the  test  of  popular  success  on  the  boards.  All 
the  standard  plays  in  all  languages  and  of  all  periods 
will  bear  this  double  test;  and  all  plays  of  serious  inten- 
tion should  submit  to  it,  should,  indeed,  court  and 
welcome  it.  And  it  is  only  by  successfully  passing 
this  test  that  a  play  can  be  ranked  as  national  drama 
worthy  to  be  produced  in  a  National  Theatre.  I  am  not 
saying  that  the  literary  test  alone  is  sufficient,  but  it  is 
the  supreme  one.  The  drama  can  be  said  to  flourish 
only  when  in  addition  to  being  a  popular  amusement, 
it  is  also  a  creative  literary  art. 

121 


122    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

The  drama  may  also  be  partly  a  scenic  art.  When, 
however,  it  allows  the  scene  painter  to  provide  the 
chief  attraction,  the  play  becomes  a  cheap  secondary 
thing.  Painting  must  always  win  its  chief  triumphs 
on  canvas.  It  can  give  to  the  drama  only  what  is 
transitory  and  perishable,  its  second  best.  It  cannot 
give  the  drama  its  highest  and  most  enduring  achieve- 
ments. The  most  beautiful  scenery  rots  in  a  few  years. 
Therefore,  the  drama  is  not,  and  cannot  be,  in  any  large 
or  worthy  way  a  scenic  art.  It  is  necessary  to  enforce 
this  at  the  present  moment,  when  there  is  a  disposition 
to  think  that  Shakespeare,  with  his  usual  superhuman 
foresight,  wrote  his  plays  as  librettos  to  schemes  of 
twentieth  century  theatrical  decorative  art.  If  that  was 
really  his  main  purpose,  then  his  recent  producers  are 
amply  justified,  and  the  plays  maybe  defended  on  the 
ground  of  affording  them  an  excellent  opportunity  to 
make  a  reputation. 

And  henceforth  Shakespeare  should  be  studied  from 
that  point  of  view;  as,  indeed,  he  already  seems  to  be 
in  our  modern  theatre.  Shakespeare  is  the  best  and 
strongest  of  all  pegs  to  hang  a  reputation  on ;  as  Bacon 
has  recently  discovered. 

But  if  Shakespeare  did  not  write  his  plays  with  this 
main  purpose,  what  is  the  value  of  elaborate  schemes  of 
decoration  that  distract  the  attention  of  the  audience 
from  the  work  of  the  dramatist  ?  The  play  that  makes 
its  chief  appeal  on  the  art  of  the  scene-painter  will 
always  be  inconsiderable  as  an  intellectual  force,  no 
matter  how  well  it  may  be  written. 

Again,  the  drama  may  be  also  in  part  a  musical  art. 
But  here,  also,  in  any  serious  effort,  the  musician,  if  he 
gets  his  way,  swamps  the  dramatist.  In  opera,  it  is 
mainly  the  composer  who  counts ;  and  music,  like  paint- 
ing, will  always  win  its  chief  triumphs  apart  from  the 
drama,  or  by  conquest  of  it.  Therefore  the  drama  cannot 
and  should  not  be  mainly  or  considerably  a  musical  art. 

Again,  the  drama  may  call  in  the  aid  of  the  costumier ; 


THE   ENGLISH   NATIONAL  THEATRE     123 

but  if  he  becomes  the  obvious  means  of  attraction, 
a  play  of  Shakespeare's  drops  to  the  level  of  opera 
bouffe,  and  the  main  art  employed  is  that  of  dressing  a 
shop  window. 

The  drama  is  right  to  take  advantage  of  all  the  other 
arts,  and  to  use  and  subdue  them.  But  it  is  of  the 
first  importance  to  note  that  while  a  great  school  of 
intellectual  drama  is  possible  with  only  the  smallest  aid 
from  the  scene-painter,  the  musician,  and  the  costumier; 
such  a  school  is  altogether  inconceivable  apart  from 
literature.  It  is  further  to  be  noted  that  in  none  of  the 
great  dramatic  periods  of  the  past  have  the  scene-painter, 
the  musician,  or  the  costumier  been  of  any  great  account. 
Indeed,  it  may  be  asked  whether  their  insignificance  has 
not  been,  and  will  not  always  be,  one  of  the  chief  con- 
ditions of  the  production  of  great  drama.  It  is  certain 
that  much  of  the  best  and  sincerest  work  of  the  present 
day  has  been  done  without  any  great  dependence  on  the 
auxiliary  arts.  It  is  probable,  too,  that  the  alivest  work 
in  the  future  will  only  use  these  auxiliary  arts  in  a 
limited  and  subservient  way. 

For  all  these  reasons  it  is  plain  that  what  the  pro- 
moters of  the  English  National  Theatre  have  really 
pledged  themselves  to  accomplish  is  to  bring  the 
English  stage  again  into  alliance  with  English  litera- 
ture. That  is  their  task,  though  they  may  not  be  aware 
of  it ;  and  though,  doubtless,  many  of  the  subscribers  and 
supporters  will  be  surprised  to  find  themselves  engaged 
in  such  an  odd  undertaking.  So,  too,  were  the  American 
millionaires  surprised  when,  after  launching  the  American 
National  Theatre,  they  discovered  that  the  object  of 
their  undertaking  was  none  other  than  to  bring  the 
American  stage  into  alliance  with  American  literature. 
When  they  discovered  what  was  the  real  object  of  their 
enterprise,  they  dropped  it. 

Look  all  round  the  matter ;  view  it  from  all  sides  ; 
try  to  imagine  any  other  main  aim  for  a  National  Theatre 
to  pursue,  and  it  will  be  found  that  when  the  vague  idea 


124     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL    DRAMA 

of  "  elevating  the  drama  "  is  translated  into  practice,  it 
means  the  union  of  the  drama  with  literature,  and  can- 
not be  twisted  to  mean  anything  much  besides. 

Now  whether  the  English  scheme  succeeds  or  fails, 
it  must  be  an  advantage  for  its  promoters  to  have  a 
clear  understanding  of  what  they  are  setting  out  to  do ; 
and  for  the  subscribers  to  have  a  clear  understanding  of 
what  they  are  paying  their  money  to  support.  There- 
fore it  seems  to  be  a  fitting  moment  to  consider  the 
whole  position  of  the  English  National  Theatre  in  the 
light  of  the  American  failure,  and  to  see  what  profitable 
experience  can  be  gained  therefrom.  That  failure  was 
due  in  some  measure  to  the  size  of  the  theatre,  and  to  its 
unsuitability  for  the  production  of  intellectual  modern 
drama  alongside  spectacular  Shakespearean  plays. 

The  first  question,  then,  that  is  prompted  by  the 
American  defeat  is  whether  it  is  possible  to  build  a 
theatre  whose  size  and  arrangements  will  permit  the 
advantageous  and  successful  production  alike  of  Shakes- 
peare, and  of  the  best  modern  work  ?  Will  not  one  or 
the  other  have  to  go  by  the  wall  ?  Would  it  be  possible 
to  build  a  quite  small  theatre  for  modern  plays  under 
the  same  roof  with  the  Shakespearean  theatre?  The 
smaller  theatre  would  be  very  useful  for  rehearsals,  and 
for  the  all-important  work  of  training  actors. 

Or  can  we  develop  a  new  Shakespearean  convention, 
making  it  possible  to  play  him  effectively  in  a  theatre 
not  too  large  for  modern  social  plays?  The  present 
Shakespearean  convention,  which  may  be  called  the 
Irving  convention,  is  manifestly  wearing  out  and  is  ap- 
proaching its  end.  Fine  and  memorable  and  courageous 
work  has  been  done  under  it ;  but  by  and  by  it  will 
be  seen  to  have  had  its  absurd  aspects,  in  the  same  way 
that  it  now  seems  absurd  to  us  that  Garrick  should  have 
played  Lear  in  a  full-bottom  wig. 

In  talk  and  manner  all  Shakespeare's  characters  are 
Elizabethan,  Inwardly  and  spiritually  the  most  of  them 
do  mainly  belong  to  no  country  and  no  age,  but  only  to 


THE    ENGLISH    NATIONAL  THEATRE     125 

Western  humanity  at  large.  If  an  archaeologically 
correct  tartan  is  essential  to  Macbeth,  so  equally  is 
an  antique  Scotch  accent.  When  Polixenes  and  Camillo 
and  Perdita  appear  at  a  sixteenth-century  sheepshearing 
in  Warwickshire,  hard  by  the  sea-coast  of  Bohemia,  and 
contemporaneously  with  a  consultation  of  the  Delphie 
oracle ;  when  Dogberry  wanders  from  his  native 
Buckinghamshire  village  and  unaccountably  turns  up 
in  Messina,  there  is  a  woeful  dissolution  of  chronology 
and  geography ;  and  it  really  doesn't  much  matter  what 
dresses  they  wear,  or  what  scenes  form  their  back- 
ground, so  long  as  these  are  not  obtrusive,  and  are  not 
glaringly  inharmonious  with  the  text.  Archaeologically 
correct  they  cannot  be. 

An  Elizabethan  dress  would  befit  nearly  all  Shake- 
speare's characters.  And  Elizabethan  scenery  might  not 
be  inappropriately  used  for  most  of  his  scenes.  The 
present  exact  archaeologic  and  scenic  dressing  of 
Shakespeare's  plays,  is  often  nothing  but  a  costly  and 
tiresome  demonstration  of  Shakespeare's  carelessness 
and  ignorance  of  local  colour.  It  must  never  be  for- 
gotten that  Shakespeare  has  done  a  good  deal  of  his 
own  landscape  painting.  What  lover  of  Shakespeare 
would  not  rather  hear  a  beautiful  delivery  of  one  of  his 
broad  landscape  speeches,  than  see  it  superfluously 
illustrated  by  the  finest  of  modern  scene  painters  ? 

Might  it  not  be  possible  to  establish  a  Shakespearean 
convention  that  would  enormously  reduce  the  present 
cost  of  Shakespearean  production  by  making  a  few 
sets  of  unobtrusive  scenery  and  dresses  available  for 
all  of  his  plays — a  convention  that  would  be  quite  as 
much  in  keeping  with  the  letter  and  spirit  of  the 
text,  as  our  present  elaborate  but  really  incongruous 
convention  ?  The  scenes  and  dresses  could  be  designed 
with  great  beauty  and  taste  and  richness.  The  fact 
that  they  were  not  very  distinctive,  and  that  they 
might  be  recognized  as  old  friends,  would  serve  to 
remind   the    spectator  that   scenery   should    never    be 


126    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

more  than  something  quite  subservient  and  secondary 
in  the  background.  After  a  mere  glance  he  would  be 
able  to  give  his  attention  to  the  essential  matters  in 
a  Shakespearean  play ;  the  correct  and  beautiful  delivery 
of  the  verse ;  the  portrayal  of  the  characters ;  the 
swelling  rhythmical  march,  like  some  deep  organ  triumph 
on  the  vox  humana,  of  the  tremendous  emotional  and 
passionate  speeches. 

I  throw  out  this  suggestion  for  consideration,  without 
wishing  to  depreciate  the  beautiful  and  gorgeous  settings 
which  have  lately  decorated  our  English  theatre ;  and 
which  in  themselves,  and  considered  as  pictures  rather 
than  as  drama,  have  provided  feasts  of  colour  and 
moving  pageantry  for  playgoers.  And  perhaps  to-day 
the  great  public  cannot  be  drawn  to  Shakespeare  at  all 
without  the  aid  of  very  elaborate  pictorial  treatment. 
But  our  eyes  being  more  easily  attracted  and  stimu- 
lated than  our  minds,  it  is  certain  that  any  elaborate 
pictorial  representation  of  Shakespeare's  scenes  tends 
to  monopolize  our  attention,  and  to  keep  it  from 
dwelling  upon  those  aspects  and  qualities  of  Shake- 
spearean drama  which  give  it  immortal  distinction  and 
charm,  and  which  make  it  better  worth  production  than 
a  modern  costume  play.  Unless  these  aspects  and 
qualities  are  made  of  the  first  importance,  and  are  kept 
quite  to  the  front ;  unless  all  through  we  are  made  well 
aware  that  we  are  listening  to  great  poetry,  great 
philosophy  of  life,  great  expositions  of  human  character, 
we  might  almost  as  well  be  seated  at  some  piece  of  cape- 
and-sword  fustian. 

It  is  questionable  whether  any  class  of  play  is  not 
seen  to  the  best  advantage  under  those  conditions  and 
conventions  which  most  nearly  approach  the  conditions 
and  conventions  of  its  original  production.  Apparently 
a  Shakespearean  performance  was  always  kept  well 
within  the  three  hours,  and  perhaps  was  often  over  in 
less  than  two  and  a  half  And  it  is  astounding  how  much 
he   gains    as  a  playwright,   when    his   plays   are   taken 


THE  ENGLISH   NATIONAL  THEATRE    127 

right  through,  without  waits  between  the  acts.  Most 
probably  Shakespeare  would  be  found  to  give  the 
keenest  delight  to  those  well  versed  in  him,  in  a  theatre 
and  under  conditions  and  conventions  bearing  a  near 
likeness  to  the  theatre  of  his  own  day ;  and  where  the 
scenery  and  dresses  would  be  always  unobtrusive.  But 
this  would  be  for  the  elect  only.  I  recently  took  a 
Shakespearean  student  to  see  a  very  costly  and  elaborate 
representation  of  a  Shakespearean  play.  Coming  out  he 
said :  "  Yes,  that's  very  good  in  its  own  way,  and  I've 
enjoyed  myself  very  much.  But  when  are  we  going  to 
get  a  bit  of  Shakespeare  ?  " 

Doubtless,  however,  the  general  playgoing  public 
will  never  be  Shakespearean  adepts,  and  will  always 
have  to  be  captured  by  the  conventions  which  they  under- 
stand and  are  familiar  to  them.  Happily  Shakespeare 
lends  himself  to  many  widely  differing  conventions  ;  and 
our  present  convention,  if  in  many  ways  alien  to  the  spirit 
of  the  poet,  gives  the  general  public  a  liberal  education 
in  others  matters,  and  offers  them  spectacles  of  rare 
beauty. 

Before  the  national  theatre  is  built  it  would  be  wise 
for  its  promoters  to  announce  what  Shakespearean 
policy  they  mean  to  pursue ;  and  especially  what  Shake- 
pearean  convention  they  mean  to  adopt.  Surely  not 
that  of  a  recent  very  beautiful  production  of  "  Romeo 
and  Juliet "  where  the  heavy  scenery  demanded  that  the 
second  act  should  be  chopped  up  into  four  acts,  with 
long  waits  between  each ;  where  the  producer  was 
proved  to  be  a  man  of  great  taste,  and  the  author  to  be 
a  sorry  disconnected  playwright ;  where  all  the  heat  and 
movement  of  the  action  were  lost,  and  the  players'  best 
efforts  rendered  of  none  effect. 

If  such  a  comparatively  simple  Shakespearean  con- 
vention as  I  glanced  at  could  be  established,  it  might  be 
possible  to  build  a  National  Theatre  that  should  not  be 
too  small  for  an  effective  representation  of  Shakespeare, 
and  not  too  large  for  an  effective  representation  of  a 


128     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

modern  realistic  play.  This  comparatively  inexpensive 
convention  would  also  encourage  frequent  Shake- 
spearean productions  in  our  large  towns,  and  would 
easily  adapt  itself  to  municipal  theatres,  when  these 
shall  be  established.  By  its  aid,  Manchester,  Glasgow, 
Liverpool,  Birmingham,  and  other  large  cities  might,  in 
the  matter  of  Shakespearean  reproductions,  grow  to 
appear  less  contemptible  than  they  now  appear  when 
compared  with  second-rate  German  towns. 

And  if,  as  may  be  hoped,  our  National  Theatre, 
when  it  is  built,  should  enter  into  harmonious  working 
relations  with  municipal  and  repertory  theatres,  any 
particular  scene,  necessary  for  the  production  of  some 
particular  play,  such  as  the  Forum  scene  in  Julius 
Cccsar,  would  be  available  for  them  all. 

In  this  way  the  cost  of  production  would  be  much 
reduced.  English  playgoers  generally  would  be  provided 
with  the  means  of  seeing  Shakespeare,  in  place  of 
seeing  Shakespearean  scenery  with  a  star  actor  or  two. 
They  would  also  be  able  to  see  a  range  of  Shakespearean 
plays  during  the  year,  instead  of  one  or  two  of  the  most 
popular  that  happened  to  have  been  longest  on  the  shelf 
A  large  body  of  playgoers  would  perhaps  get  to  know 
Shakespeare  the  dramatist  and  poet;  and  would  approach 
him  from  a  wholly  different  point  of  view  from  that  of  the 
crowds  who  now  gape  at  a  Shakespearean  spectacle 
which  is,  in  many  respects,  alien  to  the  spirit  and 
methods  of  the  poet. 

When  all  these  considerations  are  carefully  weighed, 
it  may  be  thought  advisable  to  build  a  moderate-sized 
theatre  which,  with  some  occasional  compromise,  would 
accommodate  both  Shakespeare  and  modern  social 
drama. 

But  Shakespeare  will  always  demand  large  broad 
imaginative  acting,  and  will  always  be  most  advanta- 
geously seen  in  a  theatre  of  ample  dimensions.  He 
should  not  submit  to  a  compromise.  Further,  the  idea 
of   a   National   Theatre    implies   a  lofty   and   spacious 


THE   ENGLISH   NATIONAL  THEATRE     129 

building,  which  would  dwarf  into  nullity  or  insignifi- 
cance the  studied  smallness  and  quietness  of  modern 
realistic  drama  and  modern  realistic  acting ;  and  would 
obliterate  their  most  suggestive  and  subtle  effects. 
These  considerations  seem  to  urge  the  desirability  of 
annexing  a  small  theatre  to  the  larger  Shakespeare 
Memorial  Theatre.  It  is  a  matter  of  great  importance 
and  will  doubtless  be  well  considered  before  any 
decision  is  taken. 

In  any  case  the  entire  policy  of  the  National  Theatre 
with  regard  to  its  treatment  of  Shakespeare  and  the 
modern  drama  respectively,  should  be  most  carefully 
weighed  and  settled  and  announced  before  the  building 
is  designed.  For  the  ultimate  success  of  the  enterprise 
will  depend  upon  the  clear  conception  and  vigorous 
execution  of  a  broad  comprehensive  national  scheme, 
giving  a  warm  and  equal  shelter  and  encouragement 
alike  to  Shakespeare  and  to  the  modern  drama.  And 
this  policy  must  be  definitely  outlined  and  formulated 
before  a  stone  of  the  building  is  laid;  otherwise  we  are 
likely  to  get  a  theatre  whose  size,  structure  and  appoint- 
ments will  be  suitable  neither  to  Shakespeare  nor  to 
the  modern  drama. 

It  may  perhaps  be  argued  that  the  modern  drama  is  a 
negligible  thing,  that  may  be  left  out  of  consideration 
altogether. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  modern  English  drama 
was  ruled  out  at  the  Coronation  festivities  last  year  on 
a  curiously  amusing  plea,  which  implied  that  there  were 
so  many  modern  English  dramatists,  and  they  had  pro- 
duced so  much  good  work,  that  it  would  be  invidious  to 
choose  between  them.  This  would  have  been  welcome 
good  news  to  many  of  us,  if  we  could  have  accepted  the 
plea  as  anything  but  a  disingenuous  excuse  for  shelving 
the  modern  drama  altogether.  1  do  not  suppose  that 
English  dramatic  authors  are  spotlessly  free  from  jealousy 
and  envy,  but  I  am  persuaded  that  most  of  us  would  have 
gladly  welcomed  the  production  of  a  representative  piece 

K 


I30    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

of  modern  work  by  a  living  brother  author.  It  would 
have  seemed  strange  if  the  plea  had  been  advanced  for 
ruling  out  our  representative  modern  actors,  that  as  so 
many  of  them  reached  the  level  of  genius,  it  would  be 
invidious  to  choose  between  them  ;  and  for  that  reason 
it  would  be  advisable  on  such  an  occasion  as  the  Corona- 
tion to  seek  out  a  few  decayed  survivors  of  Macready's 
days  and  exhibit  them  as  showing  what  English  acting 
could  accomplish  in  191 1.  This  was  the  plea  advanced 
for  excluding  the  modern  drama, 

Mr.  William  Watson  has  pointed  out  that  English 
poetry  was  also  coldly  treated  at  the  Coronation.  But 
it  is  surely  advisable  to  arrange  Coronation  festivities 
on  the  level  of  the  general  literary  and  artistic  tastes  of 
the  populace — which  are  sufficiently  in  evidence.  And 
it  may  well  be,  that  after  great  deliberation  and  foresight, 
the  occasion  was  wisely  deemed  to  offer  a  fitting  oppor- 
tunity for  a  demonstration  that  England  can  get  on  very 
well  without  poetry,  and  without  any  living  modern 
drama;  and  that  any  representation  of  arts  so  insignifi- 
cant in  our  national  economy  would  strike  an  intrusive 
and  discordant  note  in  the  general  festivity.  This  is,  ot 
course,  merely  respectful  conjecture  on  my  part.  It  is 
possible  that  no  such  leading  idea  governed  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  Coronation  festivities,  and  that  no  such 
demonstration  was  intended.  But  it  must  be  allowed 
that,  intended  or  not,  the  demonstration  was  made,  and 
was  eminently  successful. 

English  poets  will  doubtless  find  consolation  in  a 
quiet  chuckle  over  certain  passages  of  Shelley,  Byron 
and  Landor ;  while  English  dramatists  need  merely  ask, 
with  all  becoming  humility,  whether  Elizabeth  and  Louis 
the  Fourteenth  gave  or  received  the  more  honour  by 
their  patronage  of  the  living  drama  of  their  day.  And 
two  or  three  lines  from  Coleridge  may  fitly  sum  up  the 
question — "The  darkest  despotisms  of  the  Continent 
have  done  more  for  the  growth  and  elevation  of  the  fine 
arts  than  the  English  government.     Without  this  sort  of 


THE   ENGLISH   NATIONAL  THEATRE    131 

encouragement  and  patronage  such  arts  will  never  come 
into  great  eminence." 

The  whole  matter  would  not  have  been  worth  men- 
tion or  even  thought,  except  that  kindred  influences 
and  tastes  may  prevail  when  the  question  of  the  policy 
of  the  National  Theatre  with  regard  to  the  modern  drama 
comes  up  for  consideration  and  determination.  Enough 
has  been  said  to  show  that  its  total  or  partial  exclusion, 
its  relegation  to  a  secondary  place,  will  inevitably 
mean  the  failure  of  the  scheme  as  an  operative  fruitful 
National  Movement.  The  claim  of  any  age  to  possess  a 
drama  rests  upon  the  continuous  production  of  fresh 
living  plays,  with  the  classic  masterpieces  used  as  guides, 
and  models,  and  correctives. 

The  failure  of  the  American  National  Theatre  offers 
other  lessons  and  warnings  to  the  promoters  of  the 
English  enterprise,  and  an  inquiry  into  the  causes  of 
that  failure  will  doubtless  furnish  them  with  matters  for 
deep  consideration  before  they  commit  themselves  and 
their  subscribers  to  a  definite  policy.  There  was  plenty 
of  money  behind  the  American  scheme ;  indeed  there 
seemed  to  be  a  prevalent  notion  that  money  would  carry 
it  through.  When  Simon  the  sorcerer  offered  Peter 
money  for  the  purchase  of  religious  gifts  he  met  with 
the  rebuke  :  "Thy  money  perish  with  thee,  because  thou 
hast  thought  that  the  gift  of  God  may  be  purchased 
with  money.  Thou  hast  neither  part  nor  lot  in  this 
matter,  for  thy  heart  is  not  right."  The  same  rebuke 
awaits  those  who  think  that  money  alone  will  bring  into 
existence  an  English  national  drama.  The  endowment 
of  a  handsome  building  will  be  of  little  avail,  while  the 
tastes  and  ideas  of  the  great  body  of  playgoers  remain 
on  their  present  level.  The  drama  must  always  be  to 
a  large  extent  a  popular  art ;  and  at  present  the  Gaiety 
Theatre  and  the  Coliseum  Music  Hall  are  our  true 
national  theatres;  seeing  that  they  and  their  like  ade- 
quately minister  to  the  wants,  and  meet  the  tastes  of  the 
vast  majority  of  English  playgoers.     And  it  seems  not 


132     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

impossible  tliat  universal  moving-picture  palaces  may 
be  the  next  expression  of  this  great  nation's  desire  for 
dramatic  entertainment. 

Is  it  worth  while  to  start  by  building  Canterbury 
Cathedral,  while  our  converts  are  so  few  in  number,  and 
while  the  majority  of  them  are  bewildered  with  eccentric 
doctrines  and  heresies  ?  Ought  not  the  start  to  be  made 
in  another  direction  and  in  another  spirit? 

For  in  spite  of  all,  unquestionably  the  idea  of  a 
national  drama  and  a  National  Theatre  is  taking  root,  and 
is  growing  up  amongst  the  more  thoughtful  and  inquiring 
sections  of  playgoers.  The  danger  is  that  a  rash  and 
ill-considered  scheme  maybe  prematurely  rushed  through 
and  like  the  American  scheme,  come  to  grief  from  want 
of  wide  popular  support. 

The  publication  of  Sir  John]  Hare's  letter  in  1904  led 
to  the  establishment  of  an  Academy  of  Dramatic  Art,  and 
to  the  formation  of  a  committee  to  promote  the  erection 
of  a  National  Theatre  as  a  memorial  to  Shakespeare. 
The  Academy  of  Dramatic  Art,  under  the  supervision  of 
Mr.  Kenneth  Barnes,  is  doing  hard  and  useful  work  in 
training  young  actors  and  actresses,  and  has  furnished 
some  valuable  recruits  to  the  stage.  Under  our  present 
conditions,  it  is  perhaps  as  good  a  training  school  as  can 
be  obtained.  But  it  cannot  give  its  pupils  the  constant 
practice  before  the  public,  which  the  old  stock  companies 
gave.  I  suppose  that  Mrs.  Kendal,  Ellen  Terry,  and 
Lady  Bancroft  had  played  more  numerous  and  more 
varied  parts  before  they  were  eighteen,  than  a  modern 
actress  will  play  during  her  life.  Thus  on  the  threshold 
of  their  careers  they  were  already  the  possessors  of  a 
seasoned  technique. 

In  a  following  article  written  in  1901  (see  page  237) 
I  outlined  a  plan  which  offered  to  beginners  the  oppor- 
tunity for  that  wide  and  constant  practice  which,  building 
on  natural  gifts,  makes  great  and  accomplished  actors 
and  actresses.  Valuable  as  schools  for  acting  may  be 
at   the   very   beginning  of  an   actor's   career,  they  can 


THE   ENGLISH   NATIONAL  THEATRE     133 

never  take  the  place  of  acting  itself  as  a  means  of 
tuition  and  development;  and  as  a  correction  of  the 
faults,  the  awkwardness  and  the  self-consciousness  of 
the  amateur. 

It  is  allowed  that  the  training  of  young  actors  will  be 
one  of  the  primary  duties  of  a  National  Theatre,  especially 
the  training  of  Shakespearean  actors.  Now  with  our 
present  material  it  will  take  at  least  ten  years  to  train 
a  school  of  actors  to  speak  blank  verse. 

The  scheme  I  sketched  in  1901  is  on  the  lines  of 
what  a  National  Theatre  may  be  expected  and  asked 
to  provide  for  beginners.  But  the  completion  of  the 
National  Theatre,  and  its  establishment  in  working 
order,  cannot  be  looked  for  in  any  immediate  future. 
The  public  subscriptions,  although  they  reach  a  hand- 
some sum,  are  not  within  any  measurable  distance  of 
furnishing  the  necessary  five  hundred  thousand  pounds. 
It  is,  however,  reasonable  to  hope  that  a  vigorous 
imperial  appeal  in  the  year  of  Shakespeare's  Tercen- 
tenary will  result  in  placing  the  desired  amount  in 
the  hands  of  the  trustees.  But  before  this  can  be 
obtained,  great  efforts  will  have  to  be  made,  and 
the  movement  must  be  kept  continually  before  the 
public,  who  will  else  relax  their  interest,  and  tighten  their 
purse-strings.  With  these  consideration  sbefore  us,  it  is 
advisable  to  show  the  public  that  progress  is  being  made. 

The  annual  interest  on  the  sum  already  in  the 
trustees'  hands  would  float  a  school  of  acting  in 
public,  something  on  the  lines  I  have  sketched.  The 
Academy  of  Dramatic  Art  could  be  taken  over  as  it 
stands,  and  made  a  most  valuable  home  for  the  crucial 
experiments  which  it  is  necessary  to  make  before  the 
National  Theatre  can  be  started  on  a  secure  basis.  In 
Mr.  Kenneth  Barnes  we  have  a  cultivated  and  experi- 
enced director  who  could  be  trusted  to  work  such  a 
scheme  as  a  temporary  half-way  house  to  the  National 
Theatre.  A  repertory  could  be  chosen  and  perform- 
ances could  be  constantly  given. 


134    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

And  here  again  in  the  matter  of  plays  the  opportunity 
offers  itself  to  make  experiments  which  would  be  of 
great  service  to  the  National  Theatre  whenever  it  shall 
be  built,  and  would  tend  to  clear  the  way  for  its  success- 
ful and  popular  working  on  a  sound  financial  basis. 

The  American  National  Theatre  started  with  an 
ambitious  production  of  Shakespeare,  and  within  a  short 
time,  from  lack  of  a  carefully  chosen  repertory  of  plays 
that  would  successfully  appeal  to  the  public  on  some 
moderately  high  intellectual  level,  was  ignominiously 
reduced  to  bringing  in  cheap  and  vulgar  attractions  that 
laughed  at  all  its  pretensions  and  aspirations.  Will  not 
some  such  fate  await  the  English  National  Theatre, 
unless  it  opens  with  a  fairly  extensive  repertory  of 
plays  that  have  already  proved  themselves  to  be 
successful  in  the  theatre ;  and  have  actually  made 
money  for  the  manager? 

Now  is  the  time  to  provide  such  a  repertory;  and 
the  scheme  I  have  suggested  offers  the  opportunity  of 
doing  it  at  a  comparatively  trifling  expense,  and  without 
risking  the  prestige  of  the  National  Theatre.  Countless 
plays  have  been  successful  in  the  English  Theatre 
during  the  last  generation.  These  are  already  shown 
to  have  the  prime  quality  of  being  attractive  actable 
money-making  plays.  Most  of  them  are,  however,  out- 
side literature  altogether ;  indeed  many  of  them  are 
blatant  with  ignorance  and  contempt  of  literature,  and 
would  disgrace  a  National  Theatre.  Some  of  them,  if 
not  to  be  regarded  as  literary  masterpieces,  do  yet  put 
forward  modest  claims  to  consideration  in  the  study; 
a  good  number  of  them,  if  indifferent  to  literature,  and 
devoid  of  serious  pretensions  to  it,  are  yet  not  offensive 
to  it,  and  might  be  allowed  a  temporary  place  in  the 
repertory. 

The  men  of  letters  who  are  already  engaged  in 
promoting  the  Shakespeare  Memorial  Scheme,  such 
as  Mr.  Edmund  Gosse,  Sir  Sidney  Lee,  Mr.  Sidney 
Low  and  others,  might  invite  those  distinguished  men 


THE   ENGLISH   NATIONAL  THEATRE    135 

of  letters  and  Shakespearean  scholars  who  are  at 
present  outside  the  scheme,  to  join  them  in  forming  a 
committee  to  examine  such  popular  and  assured  money- 
making  successes  of  the  last  twenty  years  as  could 
advance  a  claim  for  inclusion  in  the  repertory  of  the 
National  Theatre.  Seeing  that  these  plays  have  already 
passed  the  test  of  popular  theatrical  success,  this  com- 
mittee need  only  judge  them  from  the  standpoint  of 
literature.  Is  it  objected  that  some  such  sifting  by  men 
of  letters  is  not  necessary  before  the  repertory  of  the 
National  Theatre  is  decided  upon  ?  Then  it  is  proposed 
that  the  repertory  shall  include  plays  which  will  be 
likely  to  meet  with  the  condemnation  of  men  of  letters, 
and  will  therefore  tend  to  lower  the  standard  of  pro- 
duction, and  bring  the  theatre  into  disrepute.  Is  it  not 
time  that  English  literature  should  be  allowed  some  say 
and  weight  in  the  affairs  of  the  English  theatre  ? 

From  this  committee  of  literature  theatrical  managers 
and  actors  should  be  rigidly  excluded,  because  the 
theatrical  merits  of  the  plays  are  not  in  question,  and 
because  as  all  experience  proves,  theatrical  managers 
are  very  indifferent  judges  of  literature. 

But  when  certain  plays  have  been  passed  by  the 
literary  committee  as  worthy  of  production  in  a 
National  Theatre,  then  theatrical  managers  might  be 
cordially  invited  to  aid  in  their  casting  and  production  ; 
and  here  their  advice  and  help  would  be  invaluable.  If 
theatrical  managers  refuse  their  co-operation  on  these 
terms,  will  it  not  be  a  confession  that  they  do  not  wish 
the  National  Theatre  to  have  a  high  literary  standard ; 
that  what  they  really  wish  is  that  the  English  drama 
shall  continue  to  be  engineered  by  and  for  the 
English  theatre,  and  to  merely  theatrical  ends  ?  Will 
it  be  wise  for  theatrical  managers  to  make  such  a  con- 
fession ?  And  will  not  the  choosing  of  the  repertory  of 
the  National  Theatre  by  theatrical  managers  inevitably 
destroy  all  hopes  of  founding  an  English  National 
drama  on  any  higher  level  than  our  present  one  ? 


136    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

I  am  not  seeking  to  introduce  contention  amongst 
the  promoters  of  the  scheme  ;  I  am  merely  pointing  out 
that  a  contention  of  aims  and  ambitions  and  tastes  is 
certain  to  arise.  Is  it  not  better  that  all  these  things 
should  be  foreseen  and,  so  far  as  may  be,  adjusted  and 
harmonized  before  enormous  sums  of  money  are  spent, 
and  before  the  success  of  the  undertaking  is  jeopardized 
in  the  clash  of  contending  views  and  interests?  It  is 
understood  that  the  American  National  Theatre  had 
scarcely  opened  its  doors,  before  this  antagonism  of  views 
and  interests  between  the  theatrical  and  the  dramatic 
elements  of  the  undertaking  became  apparent.  This 
antagonism,  latent  in  the  production  of  any  serious 
dramatic  work,  is  bound  to  appear  at  some  time  in  the 
working  of  the  English  scheme  ;  and  a  foreknowledge  of 
it  may  tend  to  prevent  its  evil  and  perhaps  fatal  opera- 
tion at  a  critical  and  dangerous  moment.  A  preliminary 
discussion  in  which  both  sides  could  put  forward  their 
arguments  might  lead  to  some  understanding  of  the 
difficulties  and  an  avoidance  of  some  of  the  worst 
pitfalls. 

The  fate  of  the  American  National  Theatre  is  a 
warning  to  the  English  promotors  not  to  open  their 
doors  without  having  provided  themselves  with  a 
repertory  of  plays  likely  to  be  popular,  and  worthy 
also  of  production  in  a  building  which  calls  itself  the 
Shakespeare  Memorial  Theatre. 

The  provisional  and  experimental  scheme  which  I 
have  here  outlined  offers  a  possible  means  of  providing 
such  a  repertory;  it  also  offers  means  of  training  a 
school  of  actors  and  actresses  who  could  render  the 
plays  to  advantage.  And  it  does  this  without  encroach- 
ing on  the  permanent  capital  of  the  undertaking.  The 
performance  in  a  tentative  experimental  way  by 
differing  casts  of  actors,  of  such  plays  as  were  passed 
by  the  literary  committee  would  indicate  those  of 
them  that  might  be  passed  into  the  repertory  of 
the   future  National   Theatre,   as   likely  to   add   to  its 


THE  ENGLISH   NATIONAL  THEATRE    137 

resources  and  to  establish  its  popularity  with  the  great 
public. 

I  entreat  the  promoters  of  the  English  National 
Theatre  to  consider  whether  hard  and  anxious  experi- 
mental work  of  the  kind  I  have  indicated  is  not 
necessary  to  save  the  enterprise  from  failure.  I  entreat 
English  men  of  letters  not  to  desert  the  enterprise,  but 
to  assert  their  right  of  judgment  in  the  selection  of 
plays.  Unless  a  wise  selection  is  made,  and  unless 
experimental  work  is  carried  over  a  period,  say  of  ten 
years,  there  is  the  greatest  risk  of  a  humiliating  fiasco. 

Appeals  have  been  made  to  the  public  for  the  last 
four  years,  and  in  view  of  the  continued  appeals  which 
will  have  to  be  made  for  some  years  to  come,  it  is 
necessary  to  do  something  to  keep  alive  an  interest  in 
the  scheme.  My  proposal,  if  it  could  be  successfully 
worked,  would  render  this  important  service.  If  it 
cannot  be  successfully  worked,  what  hope  can  there  be 
for  the  success  of  the  larger  scheme  ? 

Intending  and  possible  subscribers  would  see  that 
something  was  being  done ;  and  in  this  way  additional 
contributions  would  doubtless  be  encouraged  which 
might  repay  the  annual  interest  advanced  by  the 
trustees.  Past  subscribers  would  have  the  satisfaction 
of  already  getting  something  for  their  money.  The 
best  seats  might  be  allotted  to  subscribers,  and  takings 
would  of  course  go  to  the  general  fund.  Established 
dramatists  might  reasonably  be  expected  to  give  the 
free  use  of  their  old  favourite  plays.  The  repertory 
need  not  be  confined  to  plays  already  produced.  Young 
and  rising  dramatists  might  be  afforded  an  opening  for 
promising  work.  Favourite  and  experienced  actors 
might  be  engaged  to  take  parts,  and  to  coach  the 
younger  actors.  The  whole  enterprise  would  of  course 
be  tentative  and  experimental ;  and  its  success,  as  in 
every  theatrical  venture,  would  depend  on  the  way  it 
was  managed.  The  amount  risked  would  be  small 
compared   with    the   amount    it   is    proposed  to   risk 


138    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

on  the  larger  scheme;  while  it  would  be  always 
working  towards  the  realization  of  the  larger  scheme, 
and  accumulating  valuable  experience.  It  is  an  easy 
and  comparatively  inexpensive  way  of  approaching 
a  most  difficult  undertaking.  If  the  necessary  capital 
should  not  be  forthcoming  for  the  realization  of  the 
larger  scheme,  it  would  prevent  its  being  indefinitely 
shelved,  and  ultimately  failing  from  want  of  funds. 
Indeed  this  temporary  half-way  house  to  a  National 
Theatre  could  be  kept  going  until  the  necessary  amount 
has  been  subscribed  for  the  larger  scheme.  On  all 
these  counts  it  seems  to  be  worth  the  consideration  of 
the  committee  and  the  trustees  of  the  Shakespeare 
Memorial  Theatre.  For  the  moment  the  building  of 
the  actual  theatre  need  trouble  us  no  more  than  the 
design  of  the  Vatican  troubled  Saint  Peter.  We  should 
have  had  a  National  Theatre  long  ago  if  there  had  been 
any  widely-spread  love  and  knowledge  of  the  drama  in 
our  nation. 

The  little  cherub  who  sits  aloft  to  report  on 
human  futilities  is  now  perched  on  the  parapet  of  the 
Millionaires'  Theatre  in  New  York,  and  there  mocks 
and  grins,  mocks  and  grins,  mocks  and  grins.  I 
think  I  see  him  preening  his  wings,  and  preparing 
to  hover  maliciously  over  the  ascending  scaffolds  of  the 
Shakespeare  Memorial  Theatre. 


IX 

THE    DRAMA   AND    REAL   LIFE 

A  lecture  delivered  at  Toynbee  Hall,  Whitechapel,  on 
Saturday  evening,  November  13th,  1897. 

I  ONCE  took  a  country  acquaintance  to  the  play;  it 
was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  been  inside  a  theatre. 
I  found  a  great  pleasure  in  watching  his  delight,  his 
childish  innocent  acceptance  of  it  all  as  real  downright 
fact,  happening  before  his  eyes.  He  enjoyed  himself 
thoroughly  until  towards  the  end  of  the  evening,  when 
some  of  the  characters,  one  of  whom  was  supposed  to 
be  very  hungry,  sat  down  to  a  meal.  Have  you  ever 
watched  a  stage  meal?  You  know  it  takes  something 
like  half  an  hour  to  eat  an  ordinary  meal.  It  ought 
never  to  take  less,  and  at  certain  city  banquets  it  takes 
considerably  more.  But  on  the  stage  if  we  were  to 
take  half  an  hour  over  a  meal  and  eat  heartily,  the 
audience  would  either  boo  and  hiss,  which  is  the 
English  way  of  showing  disapproval  in  a  theatre ;  or 
they  would  quietly  and  politely  melt  away,  which 
is  the  American  way  of  showing  disapproval.  No 
audience  in  this  world  would  endure  five  minutes  spent 
entirely  in  eating,  much  less  half  an  hour.  Further, 
the  actor  being  obliged  all  the  while  to  carry  on  the 
story  of  the  piece  by  dialogue ;  and  to  do  this  in  so 
distinct  a  voice  that  he  can  be  heard  by  the  furthest 
gallery  boy  (who  will  else  express  his  dissatisfaction  in 
the  English  fashion) — being  obliged,  I  say,  to  talk  very 
distinctly  all  the  while,  the  actor  cannot  give  much 
attention  to  chewing.     Therefore,   however  hungry   a 

139 


I40    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

stage  character  may  be,  even  if  he  be  starving,  it  is 
impossible  for  him  to  eat  much.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
even  a  starving  man  on  the  stage  eats  scarcely  any- 
thing at  all.  We  get  a  confectioner  to  make  a  very 
light  sponge  cake  in  the  shape  and  colour  of  a  chicken 
or  of  a  beef  steak,  and  so  the  actor  partakes  of  meat 
that  literally  melts  in  his  mouth.  But  any  one  who 
takes  the  trouble  to  watch  a  stage  meal  will  see  that 
it  is  the  most  barefaced  pretence.  Now  my  country 
friend  had  watched  the  play  with  the  greatest  delight, 
had  laughed  at  all  the  antique  jokes  and  tricks  of 
the  comedian,  had  contentedly  accepted  the  most 
astonishingly  impossible  characters,  and  had  all  the 
while  persuaded  himself  that  he  was  seeing  a  fact, 
an  actuality,  a  bit  of  real  life.  But  when  it  came  to 
the  dinner,  when  he  saw  a  starving  man  and  other 
people  with  average  appetites  sit  down  and  make  the 
merest  pretence  of  eating,  and  get  it  all  over  in  less 
than  five  minutes,  there  came  to  him  a  sad  awaking 
from  his  illusion.  He  felt  that  he  had  been  cheated. 
He  could  see  that  the  theatre  was  not  real.  He  was 
not  a  connoisseur  of  character ;  the  most  impossible 
heroism,  and  the  most  impossible  villainy  had  pleased 
him ;  the  stalest  old  jokes,  the  funny  impossible  tricks 
of  the  comedian,  had  sent  him  into  shrieks  of  laughter. 
It  had  all  been  so  delightful,  so  real,  till  that  dinner 
came.  That  dinner  disturbed  him  for  the  remainder  of 
the  evening. 

Now  incidentally  the  behaviour  of  my  country  friend 
illustrates  the  general  attitude  of  the  average  English 
playgoer  towards  the  drama.  I  do  not  say  that  the 
average  playgoer  is  quite  so  innocent  or  ignorant  as 
my  country  friend,  but  he  makes  the  same  mistakes ; 
he  equally  misunderstands  the  relation  of  the  drama 
to  real  life.  He  mistakes  it  for  real  life.  In  a  former 
lecture  I  gave  here  I  showed  you  why  the  drama 
should  never  be  mistaken  for  real  life,  why  such  a  way 
of   looking   at    it   leads    to    perpetual    and    increasing 


THE   DRAMA  AND   REAL  LIFE  141 

disillusion,  leads  to  the  reductio  ad  absitrdiim,  that  the 
only  people  who  can  take  a  delight  in  the  drama 
are  those  who  know  little  or  nothing  about  it.  I  do 
not  want  to  go  over  that  ground  again.  You  must 
grant  me  what  I  claim,  that  the  drama  should  never 
be  mistaken  for  real  life.  If  you  are  inclined  to 
challenge  me  on  that  point,  I  will  refer  you  to  what  I 
have  written  in  my  paper  "  On  being  rightly  amused  at 
the  theatre." 

But  my  country  friend  not  only  made  the  natural 
mistake  of  the  uncultivated  playgoer  in  supposing  the 
drama  to  be  real  life,  but  he  further  totally  misunder- 
stood in  what  relation  the  drama  stands  to  real  life. 
And  in  this  regard  he  is  representative  of  the  vast 
number  of  English  playgoers  of  the  present  day.  But 
you  will  say,  "  Is  it  not  the  end  and  purpose  of  playing 
to  hold  the  mirror  up  to  Nature,  to  show  the  very  age 
and  body  of  the  time,  his  form  and  pressure?  Is  not 
the  test  of  fidelity  to  nature,  fidelity  to  reality,  the  final 
test  which  must  and  will  be  applied  to  all  plays?" 

I  answer  that  fidelity  to  the  great  permanent  realities 
of  life ;  not  to  passing  and  casual  occurrences ;  not  to 
small  and  arid  facts,  is  the  final  test  which  will  be 
applied  to  plays,  to  novels,  to  poetry,  to  all  art  that 
deals  with  the  portrayal  of  human  life. 

I  will  try  to  show  you  why  the  drama  cannot  be  real 
life ;  why  it  must,  while  trying  its  hardest  to  portray  real 
life,  be  always  something  quite  different  from  real  life. 

First  of  all  there  is  the  impossibility  of  coincidence 
in  time.  This  was  the  difficulty  that  disturbed  my 
friend.  He  knew  that  it  ought  to  take  at  least  some 
twenty  minutes  to  eat  a  dinner;  and  the  fact  that  the 
hungry  man  did  not  take  something  like  that  time 
convicted  the  whole  play  of  being  a  sham,  an  impos- 
ture. This  "time  difficulty"  is  the  chief  difficulty  of 
the  playwright.  How  little  it  touches  the  novelist, 
who,  in  a  stroke  of  a  pen,  can  say  that  the  man  took 
half  an   hour  over  his  dinner,  and  the  thing  is  done ! 


142    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

The  whole  art  of  playwriting  is  beset  with  restrictions, 
limitations,  and  conventions  that  the  novelist  knows 
nothing  of.  You  would  not  think  of  comparing  the 
dancing  or  running  of  a  man  who  is  quite  free,  with 
the  dancing  or  running  of  a  man  who  is  laden  with 
fetters  on  hands  and  feet.  Yet  playwriters,  compared 
with  novelists,  are  so  handicapped  by  space  and  time 
limitations  and  difficulties  alone  (to  say  nothing  of 
other  conventions)  that  it  is  just  as  fair  to  make  a  com- 
parison between  them  as  to  make  the  one  I  have  just 
named. 

The  "  time  difficulty "  is  the  playwright's  heaviest 
fetter  when  once  he  has  mastered  the  primary  conven- 
tion of  his  art — to  tell  a  story  by  means  of  dialogue. 
Take  the  dinner  business  I  have  named.  We  will  sup- 
pose the  dinner  to  be  a  necessary  part  of  the  story ;  the 
hungry  man  had  to  be  fed,  and  you,  the  audience,  had  to 
see  him  fed.  Now,  either  he  must  take  twenty  minutes 
or  half  an  hour  over  the  business,  and  give  you  and  my 
country  friend  the  impression  that  you  are  seeing  a 
bit  of  real  life;  or  he  must  hurry  up,  throw  a  bit  of 
sponge-cake  chicken  down  his  throat,  and  convince 
you  of  the  unreality  of  the  whole  thing.  Is  there  any 
third  course  ?  Yes,  it  is  for  you  to  frankly  accept  the 
thing  as  a  make-believe,  a  convention,  something  that 
is  not  real  life  and  does  not  claim  to  be.  But  if  once 
you  accept  this  principle,  where  does  it  land  you? 
Follow  me  and  I'll  show  you. 

Nature  at  every  moment  and  in  every  land  spreads 
out  before  you  a  web  of  human  life,  so  vast,  so  complex, 
so  apparently  inconsistent,  so  fortuitous,  so  bewilder- 
ing, so  fantastic,  so  multifarious,  so  incomprehensible, 
so  incommensurable,  that  one  glance  at  it  is  enough 
to  cover  the  playwright  with  confusion,  fill  him  with 
despair,  and  send  him  empty  home,  convinced  of  the 
hopelessness  of  ever  attempting  to  do  anything  like 
that.  But  it  isn't  his  business  to  do  anything  like 
that.     It  is  his  business  to  select  from  that  mass  a  few 


THE   DRAMA  AND   REAL  LIFE  143 

characters,  frame  them  in  a  story,  and  tell  you  as 
much  as  he  can  of  them,  piecing  together  his  observa- 
tion and  his  experience,  and  making  of  them  a  family 
group  quite  of  his  own.  He  takes  them  clean  out  of 
that  real  world  and  puts  them  into  a  world  of  his  own ; 
preserving  at  the  same  time  all  that  he  thinks  is  most 
characteristic,  most  vital,  most  enduring  ;  painting  them 
as  faithfully  as  he  can  ;  and,  while  trying  to  make  them 
distinct  individuals,  yet  trying  to  make  them  types 
too ;  and  also  trying  to  shoot  his  own  philosophy  of 
life  and  views  of  men  and  the  world  through  them 
and  from  behind  them ;  trying  to  make  those  dozen 
characters,  just  for  the  time,  the  whole  sum  and  sub- 
stance and  volume  of  humanity. 

Now,  in  doing  this  the  playwright,  having  once 
learnt  his  technique,  is  hampered  chiefly  by  conditions 
of  time.  He  wants,  say,  to  put  before  you  a  certain 
character,  and  he  has  imagined  certain  leading  incidents 
in  this  character's! life,  certain  situations,  certain  dramatic 
moments  and  episodes.  Now,  although  there  are 
dramatic  situations  and  moments  in  the  lives  of  all 
of  us,  yet  they  are  few  and  far  between ;  they  are 
very  much  the  exception,  and  not  the  rule.  Take 
your  own  life.  Glancing  back  at  it,  you  can  see  certain 
interesting  situations,  certain  moments  that  you  think 
would  be  interesting  if  represented  on  the  stage.  Look 
into  your  own  heart.  You  will  find  there  reigning 
passions,  habits,  ways  of  thinking,  ways  of  looking  at 
life,  springs  of  action.  But  these  are  not  constantly 
apparent  in  your  deeds  and  expressions.  It  is  only 
rarely  that  they  appear  on  the  surface ;  it  is  only  at 
certain  moments,  moments  of  crisis,  of  supreme 
emotion,  that  they  are  laid  bare — even  to  yourself. 
Now  these  are  the  things  that  the  dramatist  has  to 
display ;  these  are  the  only  things  that  are  worth  dis- 
playing. But  they  are  the  rare  things ;  they  are  not 
of  everyday  occurrence.  Yet  they  are  the  vital  things, 
the  things  that   make  you  individual,  that  show  your 


144    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

essential  character,  that  make  you  interesting  to  an 
audience.  Well,  the  dramatist  has  to  select  and  to 
display  these  exceptional  things,  and  to  leave  out  the 
others,  the  ordinary,  sordid,  everyday,  inessential,  non- 
characteristic  things.  What  follows  from  this  process 
of  selection?  The  dramatist  has  at  the  most  two  hours 
and  three-quarters  to  portray  all  that  is  essential  in  the 
lives  of  some  dozen  characters,  to  portray  what  Nature 
takes  some  hundreds  of  years  to  portray.  Well  then, 
the  more  of  these  essential  things  the  dramatist  has 
seized,  the  more  he  has  crammed  his  play  with  vital 
moments,  vital  passions,  vital  marks  and  signs  of 
character,  the  less  his  play  must  be  like  real  every- 
day life  as  we  see  it.  If  he  has  drawn  your  character 
with  insight  and  with  decision  ;  if  he  has  portrayed  all 
in  your  life  that  is  worth  portrayal ;  if  he  has  taken 
the  essential  moments  of  your  life,  the  essential  notes 
of  your  character,  and  put  them  all  into  that  hour,  or 
thereabouts,  then  that  hour  cannot  be  anything  like  any 
one  single  hour  of  your  life.  It  must  be  something 
that  is  startlingly  unlike  your  real  life,  as  you  live  it 
every  day  and  every  hour.  There  is  no  escaping  from 
this  paradox.  The  more  a  dramatist  fills  his  plays 
with  the  essential  verities  of  life  and  character,  the  less 
he  is  like  real  life  as  it  strikes  the  careless  observer. 
The  more  he  fills  his  play  with  things  that  are 
illustrative  of  life  and  character  as  a  whole,  the  less 
his  play  must  be  like  any  two  or  three  hours  that  were 
ever  spent  by  any  group  of  beings  on  this  earth. 

I  put  this  "time  difficulty"  first,  because  it  is  the 
dramatist's  chief  stumbling-block  in  trying  to  give  his 
play  the  illusion  of  reality.  When  certain  great 
passions  or  supreme  moments  are  thus  exhibited  in 
rapid  sequence,  the  play  always  has  some  appearance 
of  unreality.  And  this  is  especially  the  case  in  modern 
plays,  where  the  scene  is  not  changed  during  an  act. 
A  playwright  may  violate  every  law  of  character,  defy 
all    probability    of    situation,     outrage    all     logic    and 


THE  DRAMA  AND   REAL  LIFE  145 

consistency  of  story,  and  yet  not  be  found  out  by  the 
average  English  playgoer,  if  he  cheats  him  with  small 
and  obvious  facts,  and  presents  an  outward  appearance 
of  being  like  "real  life."  While,  if  he  presents  the 
salient  features  of  a  strong  story  in  an  evidently  more 
rapid  sequence  than  they  could  occur  in  real  life,  he  is 
probably  accused  of  having  written  melodrama.  Now 
the  framework  of  every  strong  iand  moving  play 
that  was  ever  written  is  a  melodrama.  The  framework 
of  "  Hamlet "  is  frank  melodrama.  The  framework  of 
"Macbeth"  is  frank  melodrama.  The  framework  of 
"  Edipus  "  is  frank  melodrama.  In  passing  from  this 
part  of  my  subject  I  will  give  you  a  rule  to  judge 
whether  or  not  a  play  should  be  called  melodrama, 
using  the  word  in  a  contemptuous  sense.  When  you 
see  a  play  of  stirring  scenes  and  situations,  do  not  ask 
yourself  whether  they  occur  at  an  impossibly  rapid 
rate — they  are  sure  to  do  that  if  the  play  is  interesting 
— but  ask  yourself  how  far  they  are  rooted  in  and 
spring  from  character;  how  far  they  are  allied  to  the 
exhibition  and  development  of  character ;  how  much 
real,  living  human  character  you  have  seen  displayed 
and  illustrated  in  these  strong  situations.  Strong 
scenes  and  situations  that  are  filled  with  puppets  of 
the  stage,  are  rightly  called  melodrama.  But  strong 
scenes  and  situations  that  exhibit  fresh  and  living 
human  characters  are  not  justly  called  melodrama, 
merely  because,  for  the  convenience  of  the  spectator, 
they  are  placed  before  him  in  an  impossibly  rapid 
sequence,  and  to  that  extent  give  the  impression  of 
unreality. 

But  the  dramatist  has  another  great  difficulty,  com- 
pared with  the  novelist.  He  is  not  only  hampered 
with  what  I  have  called  the  "  time  difficulty."  He  has 
also  a  terrible  "  space  difficulty."  Consider  how  easily 
a  novelist  can  shift  his  scene.  A  single  stroke  of  the 
pen  does  it,  and  he  can  do  it  as  often  as  he  pleases — a 
dozen  times  in  a  single  page  if  he  thinks  it  necessary. 

L 


146    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

And  however  often  he  does  it,  there  is  no  feeling  of 
disillusion  in  the  reader.  How  terribly  handicapped 
is  the  dramatist  in  this  respect !  In  a  play,  especially 
in  a  play  of  modern  life,  it  is  not  advisable  to  change  a 
scene  during  an  act.  I  am  not  a  great  stickler  for  this 
convention  of  unity  of  place.  Speaking  broadly  I 
would  say,  "  Change  your  scene  as  often  as  the  conduct 
of  your  story  requires  it — a  dozen  times  in  an  act  if 
necessary."  Still,  it  does  disturb  the  illusion  of  reality 
if  there  are  constant  changes  of  scene  in  an  act ;  and  it 
would  have  to  be  some  paramount  consideration, 
involving  the  destruction  of  an  important  link  of  my 
story,  or  of  some  important  exhibition  of  character, 
that  would  induce  me  to  change  a  scene  during  the 
progress  of  an  act.  Yet  this  "  space  difficulty  "  is  almost 
as  heavy  a  handicap  to  the  dramatist  as  the  "time 
difficulty."  We  have  not  only  to  cram  all  the  important 
events  of  a  lifetime  into  an  hour,  but  we  have  to  nail 
our  characters  together  on  a  plank  some  twenty-five 
feet  square,  and  rnake  them  do  all  their  deeds  and  show 
all  their  characters  on  that  identical  spot.  I  hope  you 
will  see  how  much  this  adds  to  the  dramatist's  diffi- 
culties. It  multiplies  them  in  cubic  proportion.  Every 
character  has  to  be  there  on  the  spot,  has  to  be  supplied 
with  some  reasonable  excuse  for  being  there  exactly 
at  the  moment  when  the  exigencies  of  your  story 
require  him,  and  has  to  be  supplied  with  an  equally 
reasonable  excuse  for  taking  himself  off  at  the  precise 
moment  when  the  exigencies  of  the  story  require  him 
to  "get  out."  Think  of  this  "space  difficulty."  It  scarcely 
troubles  the  novelist.  The  playwright  is  oppressed 
by  it  at  every  moment. 

I  remember  one  popular  play  where  all  the  characters 
turn  up  in  a  remote  corner  of  Australia  in  the  last  act. 
It  was  a  very  remarkable  coincidence,  was  it  not,  that 
some  twelve  or  fourteen  people  who  had  been  com- 
fortably established  in  England  in  the  earlier  acts,  should 
all  of  them  happen  to  drop    in    at   a   hut   in    Western 


THE   DRAMA  AND   REAL  LIFE  147 

Australia  exactly  in  the  same  half-hour?  It  you  are 
seasoned  playgoers,  I  am  sure  you  will  have  met  with 
equally  remarkable  coincidences ;  you  will  remember 
plays  where  by  some  irresistible  magnetism  all  the 
characters  are  driven  to  some  one  spot  exactly  at  the 
right  moment.  The  drama  is  full  of  such  coincidences. 
Real  life  is  not.  Real  life  is  as  sparing  of  these  coinci- 
dences in  space  as  of  coincidences  in  time.  I  have  been 
watching  real  life  very  carefully  for  more  than  thirty 
years,  and  it  has  never  offered  to  me  any  one  single 
scene  that  could  be  put  on  the  stage.  If  you  watch  real 
life  you  will  never  find  all  the  characters  of  any  story 
gathered  on  one  spot,  and  there  performing  actions  and 
discoursing  in  language  that  would  explain  to  an  intelli- 
gent spectator  the  history  of  their  lives,  or  the  history  of 
any  one  of  their  lives.  If  you  carefully  compare  any 
drama  that  was  ever  written  with  real  life,  you  will  find 
the  likeness  breaking  down  at  every  moment.  It  cannot 
be  sustained  for  the  shortest  scene.  At  every  moment 
real  life  is  fragmentary,  inconsequent,  disjointed;  it 
never  tells  a  story  by  implication,  as  a  dramatist  always 
does.  Nature  scarcely  for  a  moment  uses  the  methods, 
or  copies  the  aims  of  the  dramatist.  And  the  dramatist 
can  never  be  like  real  life — chiefly  for  these  two  main 
reasons  that  I  have  pointed  out — firstly,  he  has  to  con- 
centrate all  his  action  within  the  merest  fraction  of  the 
time  that  would  be  taken  in  real  life ;  secondly,  he  has 
to  concentrate  all  his  action  in  a  few  small,  definite, 
stationary  scenes.  And  the  necessity  of  thus  concentrat- 
ing his  action  brings  him  every  moment  into  conflict 
with  the  thousand  inessential  facts  and  worthless 
trivialities  which  are  the  adjuncts  and  setting  of  real  life 
everywhere  and  at  all  times.  There  is  no  way  of 
representing  these  trivialities  on  the  stage ;  they  have 
no  place  there ;  they  merely  bore  the  ordinary  playgoer 
and  take  away  the  time  and  patience  which  he  is  ready 
to  give  to  weightier  matters.  So  little  is  it  the  business 
of  the  drama  to  copy  real  life,  that  the  playwright  who 


148    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

tries  to  do  so  only  finds  at  the  end  of  his  task  that  he 
has  amassed  a  heap  of  worthless  facts  which,  after  all, 
are  only  a  small  proportion  of  the  whole;  he  may  have 
seized  a  few  outward  resemblances  to  real  life,  but  he 
has  probably  missed  all  the  great  verities  and  enduring 
realities  of  life  and  character.  And  the  more  of  the 
great  things  he  has  seized  and  packed  into  his  two 
hours'  traffic  of  the  stage,  the  less  his  play  will  be  like 
real  life  ;  the  more  it  will  be  apt  to  strike  the  ordinary 
unthinking  spectator  as  forced,  unreal,  unnatural,  and 
melodramatic.  I  told  you  of  my  country  friend  who  was 
disturbed  because  he  could  not  see  a  real  dinner  really 
and  truly  eaten  on  the  stage.  He  is  a  type  of  the  ordinary 
uneducated  playgoer,  who,  when  he  goes  to  the  theatre, 
will  comfortably  swallow  the  greatest  falsehoods  in  the 
story  and  characters,  if  he  can  only  retain  a  few  small 
commonplace  illusions.  He  will  accept  the  most  out- 
rageously impossible  story,  the  most  impossible  de- 
velopment of  character,  if  only  you  throw  him  a  few  odd 
bits  of  cheap  realism.  Every  now  and  then  we  get  a 
dramatic  movement  which  professes  to  be  a  return  to 
Nature,  to  truth,  to  real  life,  but  which  always  ends  in 
showing  the  (playgoer  some  perhaps  neglected,  but 
quite  trumpery,  aspect  of  life,  or  character,  or  stage 
furniture.  Seeing  that  the  drama  can  only  give  the 
spectator  the  barest  fraction  of  real  life ;  and  seeing  that 
this  bare  fraction  in  vogue  on  the  stage  at  that  time,  does 
not  include  real  cabs,  some  pioneer  in  the  drama  arises, 
and  rightly  divining  that  a  certain  number  of  playgoers 
will  be  solaced  and  edified  by  the  sight  of  a  real  cab, 
places  one  on  the  stage,  and  satisfies  the  hunger  of  that 
portion  of  the  public  for  real  life.  At  another  time, 
seeing  that  certain  petty  tricks  of  manner  and  little 
trivialities  of  social  life  have  been  neglected,  some 
pioneer  arises  in  the  drama,  and  places  these  on  the 
stage,  and  thus  satisfies  the  hunger  of  another  portion 
of  the  playgoing  public  for  real  life.  At  another  time, 
seeing  that  zymotic  diseases  have  been  overlooked  by 


THE   DRAMA  AND   REAL   LIFE  149 

the  modern  playwright,  some  pioneer  in  the  drama  arises, 
and  rightly  divining  that  a  certain  number  of  playgoers 
will  be  solaced  and  edified  by  an  exhaustive  descrip- 
tion— say  of  erysipelas  or  small-pox — some  pioneer 
in  the  drama  arises  and  satisfies  the  hunger  of  that 
portion  of  the  public  for  real  life.  In  spite  of  apparently 
wide  diff'erences  between  all  these  movements  ;  in  spite 
of  the  different  aims  and  tempers  of  the  men  who  lead 
them,  they  all  make  the  same  mistake ;  they  all  attempt 
the  impossible  feat  of  making  the  stage  like  real  life 
in  the  sense  of  copying  real  life  ;  they  get  a  little 
nearer  to  real  life  in  one  direction  only  to  throw 
themselves  more  hopelessly  out  in  another;  they  insist 
on  certain  mean  inessential,  or  ignoble  facts  and 
features  of  life,  and  miss  its  unity,  its  largeness,  its 
dignity,  its  classicality. 

I  will  give  you  an  instance  of  what  I  mean.  Perhaps 
the  greatest  story  that  was  ever  told  on  the  stage,  and 
certainly  the  finest  example  of  dramatic  construction,  are 
to  be  found  in  the  "  Edipus  Tyrannus"  of  Sophocles. 
The  most  tremendous  national  issues  are  at  stake,  and 
these  are  bound  up  in  the  awful  and  fateful  story  of  the 
hero  and  his  mother-wife.  Step  by  step  the  tragic  story 
marches  to  its  close;  every  moment  developing  some 
new  situation  of  terror  and  pathos,  or  showing  some  new 
stretch  of  the  great  net  wherein  fate  has  entangled  the 
king  and  his  family  and  the  whole  nation.  I  will  not 
attempt  to  tell  you  that  marvellous  story.  To  give  you 
a  correct  idea  of  it,  would  take  more  time  ,  than  is 
allotted  for  the  whole  of  my  lecture,  more  time  than  to 
read  the  whole  of  the  play.  But  imagine  a  story  wherein 
the  fate  of  the  whole  nation  is  involved  in  the  domestic 
history  of  a  single  man  and  his  family.  Suppose  that 
family  to  be  the  highest  and  noblest  in  the  land,  and  the 
man  himself  to  be  a  great  wise  king  at  the  height  of  his 
fame  and  power.  Suppose  the  history  of  that  family  to 
be  the  most  touching,  the  most  terrible,  the  most  strange 
and  wonderful,  that  the  brain   of  man   has  conceived. 


I50     P^OUNDATIONS  OF   A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

Suppose  that  story  to  be  told  you  in  the  most  beautiful 
language,  accompanied  by  great  sweeping  musical 
choruses.  Suppose  all  that  to  be  done  in  one  single  scene, 
in  one  single  act,  of  something  over  one  hour  and  less]than 
two — say  about  one-third  of , the  length  of  "  Hamlet."  It 
is  the  most  perfect  specimen  of  dramatic  workmanship — 
but  it  is  not  like  real  life.  There  is  the  whole  history  of 
the  great  king  and  his  family,  his  whole  life  up  to  that 
point,  fast  locked  with  all  the  attendant  national  hopes 
and  fears,  fast  locked  with  the  destiny  of  the  whole  people 
— all  this  is  placed  before  you  in  one  eventful  hour,  on 
one  eventful  spot.  Nature  would  have  taken  many  years 
and  the  breadth  of  the  land  to  do  that.  Sophocles  does 
it  in  a  little  over  an  hour  on  one  spot.  But  if  this,  an 
acknowledged  dramatic  masterpiece  of  the  whole  civilized 
world,  is  utterly  unlike  any  one  hour  of  real  life  that  the 
world  ever  saw,  how  vain  and  paltry  are  the  efforts  of 
those  who  try  to  put  real  life  on  the  stage  as  it  actually 
is ;  how  vain  and  paltry  are  all  criticisms  that  judge  a 
play  because  of  its  likeness  or  unlikeness  to  actual  life  in 
small  particulars. 

I  do  not  forget  that  a  great  gulf  is  fixed  between  the 
classic  masterpieces  of  the  world,  "  Edipus,"  "  Hamlet," 
"  Phedre,"  "Tartuffe,"  and  our  modern  drama  of  every- 
day life.  Their  methods,  their  style,  their  conventions, 
their  treatment  of  the  passions,  the  aspects  of  humanity 
that  they  try  to  seize  and  represent,  are  not  the  same  as 
ours,  who  traffic  in  the  drama  of  contemporary  life.  It 
would  take  me  out  of  my  way  to  examine  and  explain 
the  difference  between  the  different  schools.  But  widely 
different  as  they  are  in  many  things,  they  are  all  alike  in 
some  respects.  The  classic  drama  and  the  drama  of 
modern  life  both  try  to  seize  and  present  what  is 
interesting  in  real  life;  they  both  represent  certain 
actualities  of  life  in  exact  imitation  of  real  life;  and 
they  both  try  to  create  and  preserve  a  continuous 
illusion  of  real  life ;  though  the  illusion  of  the  poetic 
and    classic   drama  is   not   the  illusion  of  the  modern 


THE   DRAMA  AND   REAL  LIFE  151 

drawing-room  play.     But  it  is  always  an  illusion  of  real 
life.     It  breaks  down  the  moment  you  bring  it  to  the 
test  of  real  life.     If  you  look  carefully  into  it,  you  will 
find  that  the  modern  drawing-room  play  which  seems 
so  much  like  real  life  is  indeed  in  many  respects  as  far 
away  from  real  life  as  the  most  stilted  tragedy.     And 
all   attempts   to   put   upon   the   stage  a  veritable   slice 
of  real  life  are  generally  as  dull  as  real  life ;   they  only 
succeed    in    portraying     the    inorganic,    disconnected, 
uninteresting  series  of  humdrum    occurrences   that   is 
constantly  passing  before  our   eyes.     In  the  drama,  as 
in  the  other  arts,  art   is  art   because  it  is  not  Nature; 
because   it   is   something   quite  distinct   from    Nature ; 
because   it    is   recherche,   organic,    architectural,    magic, 
disdainful  of  commonplace ;  because  it  selects  from  the 
mass  of  real  life  this  one  thing,  this  one  feature,  this 
one   character,  this  one  moment,  takes   it   right   away 
from  real  life  and  the  real  world,  and  puts  it  in  fresh 
combinations,  into   a   world   of  its   own.     And   in   the 
drama,  as  in  the  other  arts,  the  more  rare  and  beautiful 
the   things   that   the   artist   has   gathered  for   you,  the 
more  they  are  fired  and  coloured  in  the  furnace  of  his 
imagination,  the  less  the  result  will   be   like   real   life. 
And  in  the  end  you  will  find  that  this  paradox  of  mine 
always  holds  true.     The  more  the  dramatist  has  crammed 
his  play  with  the  higher  and  greater  verities  of  life  and 
character,  the  less  time  and  space  he  will  have  for  the 
ordinary,    everyday,    obvious    inessential    things ;   and 
therefore  the  less  his  play  will  be  like   real  life   as   it 
actually  passes  before  your  eyes.     But  because  this  is 
so,  because  the  dramatist  cannot  give  you  all  that  Nature 
gives,  is  no  reason  that  he  should  be  false  and  careless 
in  what  he  does  give  you.     It  should  all  be  taken  from 
real   life,  faithfully   and   fearlessly   seen,    faithfully   and 
fearlessly  studied,  faithfully  and  fearlessly  transported 
into  that  other  world. 

I  glanced  a  little  while  back  at  the  great  difficulties 
that    beset     the     dramatist    in    comparison    with    the 


152    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

novelist,  because  of  the  limitations  and  conventions 
in  time  and  space  which  the  dramatist  must  submit  to. 
In  another  regard  he  is  at  great  disadvantage  compared 
with  the  novelist.  The  novelist  has  not  only  unlimited 
space  and  time,  but  he  has  also  the  immense  aid  of 
description.  The  novelist  stands  on  his  stage  beside 
his  characters  and  describes  them ;  analyzes  their 
motives ;  explains  what  they  are  feeling ;  tells  you  their 
past  history  at  any  length,  hints  and  prophesies  all  that 
is  going  to  happen  to  them.  Again,  the  novelist  tells 
his  story  directly  by  his  own  word  of  mouth,  and  when 
he  writes  dialogue  it  is  the  direct  and  simple  utterance 
of  the  speaker.  Every  sentence  the  dramatist  writes 
has  to  illustrate  the  character  of  the  speaker,  and  has 
also  to  carry  on  the  story,  not  directly,  but  indirectly 
and  by  implication.  How  very  unlike  real  life  this  is  ! 
When  in  real  life  do  you  hear  people  talking  in  such  a 
way  as  to  unfold  the  dearest  secret  of  their  hearts; 
betraying  their  thoughts  and  all  the  springs  of  their 
actions  ;  and  in  the  same  sentence  carrying  on  a  definite, 
connected,  involved,  organic  history  ? 

But  if  the  dramatist  has  to  contend  with  these 
enormous  difficulties  that  the  novelist  knows  nothing 
about ;  if  he  is  placed  at  the  start  in  a  position  where  it 
is  impossible  for  him  to  portray  real  life  with  the  simple 
freedom  and  easy  directness  of  the  novelist,  consider 
for  a  moment  what  immense  difficulties  beset  both 
novelist  and  dramatist,  compared  with  the  painter,  in 
any  attempt  to  represent  real  life. 

The  painter  has  but  one  moment,  one  scene,  to 
portray.  Let  him  choose  that  well,  and  he  can  give 
you  an  exact  picture  of  that  moment,  of  all  that  is 
happening  in  that  scene,  and  all  that  it  contains.  The 
dramatist,  the  novelist,  the  poet,  have  to  portray  an 
endless  succession  of  moments,  an  endless  succession 
of  scenes,  all  of  them  definitely  and  organically 
connected.  Every  moment  of  a  play  something  is 
happening,    every   moment    presents    a    new    picture. 


THE   DRAMA  AND   REAL   LIFE  153 

This  difference  between  the  arts  of  painting  and 
literature  has  been  very  finely  indicated  by  Matthew 
Arnold  in  his  "  Epilogue  to  Lessing's  Laocoon."  I 
will  leave  you  to  read  and  digest  the  poem  for  your- 
selves, merely  snatching  a  verse  or  two  from  it  to 
illustrate  my  meaning. 

The  poet  is  walking  in  Hyde  Park  with  a  friend,  and 
a  beautiful  London  scene  is  spread  out  before  them  on 
a  May  morning : 

*'  Behold,"  I  said,  "  the  painter's  sphere  ! 
The  hmits  of  his  art  appear  ! 
The  passing  group,  the  summer  morn, 
The  grass,  the  elms,  that  blossom'd  thorn  ; 
Those  cattle  couched,  or  as  they  rise. 
Their  shining  flanks,  their  liquid  eyes ; 
These  or  much  greater  things,  but  caught, 
Like  these,  and  in  one  aspect  brought 
In  outward  semblance  he  must  give 
A  moment's  life  to  things  that  live." 

Passing    on,   different  sounds   catch    the    ear;   the 

breeze   rustling  from  the  trees,   the   splashing  of  the 

waves  under  the  bridge,  and  the  organ  sounding  in 
Westminster  Abbey. 

"  The  world  of  music  !  "  I  exclaimed, 
#*##*#<<  -v^hat  a  sphere 
Large  and  profound  hath  genius  here, 
Th'  inspired  musician  what  a  range, 
What  power  of  passion,  wealth  of  change  ! 
Some  pulse  of  feeling  he  must  choose 
And  its  locked  fount  of  beauty  use, 
And  through  the  stream  of  music  tell 
Its  else  unutterable  spell." 

The  friends  pass  on,  and 

"  reach  the  Ride 
.    Where  gaily  flows  the  human  tide. 
Afar  in  rest  the  cattle  lay. 
We  heard  afar  faint  music  play  ; 
But  agitated,  brisk,  and  near. 
Men  with  their  stream  of  life  were  here. 
The  young,  the  happy,  and  the  fair, 
The  old,  the  sad,  the  worn  were  there. 


154    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

Some  vacant,  and  some  musing  went, 

And  some  in  talk  and  merriment. 

Nods,  smiles,  and  greetings,  and  farewells, 

And  now  and  then,  perhaps,  their  swells 

A  sigh,  a  tear — but  in  the  throng 

All  changes  fast,  and  hies  along. 

'  Behold  at  last  the  poet's  sphere  ! 

But  who,'  I  said,  '  suffices  here  ? 

For,  ah  !  so  much  he  has  to  do  ! 

Be  painter  and  musician  too  ! 

The  aspect  of  the  moment  show, 

The  feeling  of  the  moment  know  !  a 

.     .     .     Then  comes  his  sorest  spell 

Of  toil !  he  must  life's  movement  tell ! 

The  thread  which  binds  it  all  in  one, 

And  not  its  separate  parts  alone  ! 

His  eye  must  travel  down,  at  full. 

The  long,  unpausing  spectacle. 

With  faithful  unrelaxing  force 

Attend  it  from  its  primal  source  ; 

From  change  to  change  and  year  to  year 

Attend  it  of  its  mid  career, 

Attend  it  to  the  last  repose 

And  solemn  silence  of  its  close. 

Yes,  all  this  eddying,  motley  throng 

That  sparkles  in  the  sun  along, 

Girl,  statesman,  merchant,  soldier  bold. 

Master  and  servant,  young  and  old. 

Grave,  gay,  child,  parent,  husband,  wife, 

He  follows  home  and  lives  their  life.'  " 

I  think  these  passages  will  serve  to  show  how 
infinitely  difficult  are  the  arts  of  the  poet,  the  novelist,  and 
the  dramatist,  compared  with  the  art  of  the  painter,  in 
that  they  have  to  render  a  connected  succession  of 
scenes,  and  not  one  scene.  I  think  they  show  how 
prolonged  and  sustained  and  complex  is  the  effort  of 
the  poet  or  dramatist  compared  with  the  effort  of  the 
painter ;  and  why  it  is  that  mankind  has  placed  in  the 
highest  seats  of  reverence  and  honour,  not  great  painters, 
not  great  sculptors,  not  great  musicians,  but  great  poets, 
Shakespeare,  Homer,  Virgil,  Dante,  Milton.  And  they 
also  show  why  painters  can  render  with  the  utmost 
exactitude    certain    moments    and    certain    aspects    of 


THE   DRAMA  AND   REAL   LIFE  155 

human  life  that  must  either  be  omitted  or  falsified  by 
the  dramatist.  And  when  the  dramatist  does  it,  when 
he  does  exactly  render  certain  moments  and  certain 
aspects  of  humanity,  he  generally  throws  that  part  of 
his  jwork  out  of  relation  and  proportion  to  all  the  rest 
of  his  scheme,  and  is  apt  to  give  an  impression  of 
patchwork  and  incongruity. 

Now  I  hope  I  have  shown  you  why  it  is  impossible 
for  the  dramatist  to  be  like  real  life ;  and  why,  if  you 
carefully  follow  his  work  and  check  it  off  bit  by  bit 
and  moment  by  moment,  you  will  find  it  is  something 
quite  unlike  real  life.  He  should  of  course  give  you 
an  illusion  of  real  life,  and  the  art  of  creating  this 
illusion  is  the  art  of  the  dramatist.  Unless  you  can 
grant  to  him  a  provisional  belief  in  the  reality  of  his 
scenes  you  will  not  follow  him  with  pleasure.  He 
should  always  deceive  you  into  taking  it  for  real  life. 
He  should  make  you  lend  yourselves  to  him  for  the 
moment.  But  believe  me  it  is  all  make-believe.  And 
the  permanent  value,  not  the  monetary  success,  not 
the  long  run — the  permanent  value  of  his  work  will 
depend  upon  how  many  of  the  great  verities  of  life 
and  character  he  has  managed  to  cram  into  his  play. 

But  against  all  plays  that  were  ever  written  you  will 
find  somebody  or  the  other  bringing  this  charge — 
"This  is  not  real  life."  Read  the  criticisms  that  appear 
on  any  new  play,  listen  to  the  talk  of  folks  coming  out 
of  the  theatre,  and  you  will  generally  find  somebody 
saying,  "This  is  not  real  life."  I  happened  to  take  up 
two  daily  papers  and  read  the  criticisms  on  a  play  that 
had  been  produced  the  evening  before.  One  of  them 
said :  "  These  are  real  men  and  women  ;  these  are  the 
people  whom  we  are  meeting  every  day."  The  other 
paper  said:  "These  are  not  real  people  at  all;  these 
are  creatures  of  fantasy,  creatures  of  the  playwright's 
brain  ;  they  do  not  exist  at  all." 

How  do  you  account  for  this  diametrical  opposition 
of  judgment  between  two  trained  critics?    Can   it   be 


156    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

that  one  of  them  was  wrong?  I  wouldn't  dare  to  hint 
it.  No,  when  a  playwright  finds,  as  he  generally  does, 
that  two  different  critics,  both  of  whose  opinions  are  of 
equal  value,  are  saying  totally  diverse  and  contradictory 
things  about  his  play,  it  is  not  his  business  to  suggest 
that  one  or  both  of  them  may: be  wrong.  It  then 
becomes  the  playwright's  duty  to  find  some  means  of 
reconciling  the  contradictory  opinions,  and  proving  that 
both  of  them  are  right.  And  when  one  spectator  affirms 
of  a  play  "  This  is  real  life,"  and  another  spectator 
affirms  "This  is  not  real  life,"  the  reply  is  "  Of  course 
it  isn't  real  life — it  is  very  obviously  and  intentionally  a 
play.  That  goes  without  saying.  Here  is  the  point — 
What  aspects  of  real  life  and  character  did  the  dramatist 
set  himself  to  portray  ?  If  he  has  seized  and  portrayed 
them  faithfully,  he  must  necessarily  be  false  to  real  life 
in  many  other  respects.  What  aspects  of  real  life  and 
character  are  you  searching  for  in  his  play?  If  you 
are  searching  for  the  same  aspects  of  life  and  character 
that  the  dramatist  has  rendered,  then  you  will  find  his 
play  to  be  true  to  life.  If  you  are  searching  for  other 
aspects  of  life  and  character,  then  you  will  find  his  play 
to  be  false  to  life." 

What  aspects  of  life  and  character  do  you  search  for 
when  you  go  to  a  play?  My  country  friend  was  dis- 
tressed because  the  stage  meal  was  not  a  real  one.  To 
him  the  play  had  failed  because  it  was  evidently  wrong 
in  the  matter  of  eating  and  drinking,  of  which  he  was  a 
judge.  It  had  really  failed  in  the  higher  matters  of 
character  and  literature,  of  which  he  was  not  a  judge. 
But  this  had  not  distressed  him.  It  is,  of  course,  quite 
plain  that  we  can  only  judge  a  play  according  to  our 
own  mental  aptitudes  and  training.  But  all  judgments 
that  are  based  on  a  supposed  likeness  or  unlikeness  to 
real  life  are  useless  or  fallacious,  until  it  is  first  settled 
what  aspect  of  real  life  the  dramatist  was  trying  to 
paint,  and  what  aspect  of  real  life  the  spectator  is 
looking  for. 


THE  DRAMA  AND   REAL  LIFE  157 

Now,  so-called  realism  or  naturalism  has  made  great 
advances  in  the  novel,  but  it  has  been  to  a  great  extent 
repulsed  on  the  stage.  It  has  been  successful  only  in 
quite  small  theatres,  and  has  been  supported  by  cliques 
rather  than  by  the  great  playgoing  public,  who  have 
been  repelled  by  it  and  driven  to  musical  comedy.  One 
reason  for  this  rejection  of  realism  by  the  average 
playgoer,  may  be  found  in  the  great  difference  of  its 
method  of  presentation  in  the  novel  and  on  the  boards. 
The  novel  is  read  at  home,  in  your  own  sitting-room, 
in  your  own  drawing-room.  When  I  read  a  naturalistic 
novel,  treating,  say,  of  the  slums  of  the  East-end,  I  do 
not  read  it  in  the  slums.  There  may  be  good  reasons 
why  I  should  visit  the  slums,  but  when  I  read  a  novel  of 
slum  life,  my  setting,  my  mise-en-sdne,  my  surroundings, 
are  my  own  comfortable  study  or  drawing-room.  But 
when  I  go  to  a  play  of  slum  life,  to  the  extent  that  the 
play  is  faithfully  realistic,  to  the  extent  that  it  does  what 
the  naturalistic  dramatist  demands,  to  that  extent  I  am 
actually  in  the  slums.  They  are  actually  before  my  eyes 
in  all  their  bare,  sordid  reality,  without  any  comment 
or  description.  In  the  realistic  novel,  it  is  chiefly  the 
novelist's  power  of  description  that  arrests  me;  his 
style,  his  observation,  his  colouring,  and,  above  all,  his 
imagination.  If  the  novelist  hasn't  style,  insight,  imagi- 
nation, if  he  merely  comes  into  the  slums,  sees  a 
number  of  dirt}^  and  repulsive  objects  and  catalogues 
them — then  he  is  as  dull  and  uninteresting  as  the 
realistic  playwright  generally  contrives  to  be. 

I  will  give  you  an  instance  of  the  difference  between 
placing  on  the  stage  a  certain  scene  of  low  life,  and 
putting  it  into  the  pages  of  a  novel.  Some  of  you  have 
read  Dickens's  "  Little  Dorrit."  He  describes  a  scene  in 
the  Borough  near  to  the  old  Marshalsea  prison.  It  is  the 
backs  of  a  row  of  dirty  tumble-down  houses,  with  the 
washing  of  the  inhabitants  stretched  out  to  dry  in 
the  backyards  on  sagging  clothes-lines.  Put  that 
realistically  on  the  stage,  and  you  could  scarcely  have 


158    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

a  more  uninteresting,  or  dirty,  or  sordid  scene.  But 
turn  to  Dickens's  description,  and  see  what  his  magic 
imagination  finds  there.  One  of  his  bright  live  touches 
says  that  the  scene  looked  as  if  the  inhabitants  of  the 
street  had  been  fishing  out  of  their  back  windows  for 
flannel  petticoats — and  hadn't  caught  much ! 

There  is  everything  in  real  life.  But  it  is  not  what 
Nature  has  put  there ;  it  is  what  the  observation  of  the 
artist  has  seen  there;  and  above  all,  how  he  has  trans- 
figured it  for  you  in  his  imagination.  All  the  great 
characters  in  fiction  and  the  drama  are  taken  from  real 
life.  They  are  first  seen  there,  observed  there,  care- 
fully and  faithfully  and  minutely  studied  there,  and 
then  they  are  taken  right  away  from  the  real  world  and 
put  into  the  world  of  imagination,  and  transfigured  into 
something  rich  and  strange  and  new,  something  quite 
unlike  real  life.  I'll  give  you  one  more  instance  of  this 
transforming  power,  and  then  I  have  done. 

In  George  Eliot's  "  Felix  Holt "  there  is  a  very 
beautiful  and  very  faithful  portrait  of  a  dissenting 
minister,  the  Reverend  Rufus  Lyon.  It  is  perfectly 
done,  and  I  will  answer  for  its  correctness  and 
authenticity.  In  "  Pickwick "  there  is  a  dissenting 
minister  called  Stiggins,  and  in  "Bleak  House"  there  is 
a  dissenting  minister  called  Chadband.  They  are  out- 
rageous, monstrous,  colossal  creatures  of  the  imagina- 
tion. But  the  instincts  of  the  English  and  American 
nations  have  seized  upon  Stiggins  and  Chadband,  and 
have  made  them  household  words  wherever  the  English 
language  is  spoken.  Rufus  Lyon  has  a  goodly  number 
of  admirers  ;  but  he  is  comparatively  little  known  to  the 
great  English  public,  and  has  never  appealed  to  them  as 
Stiggins  and  Chadband  have  done.  Why  ?  Is  the 
public  instinct  wrong?  I  do  not  think  so.  I  believe 
that,  though  Stiggins  and  Chadband  are  far  more  un- 
like real  life  than  Rufus  Lyon ;  are,  indeed,  in  many 
ways  extravagant  caricatures,  they  are  yet  imagina- 
tively  more   true   than    Rufus   Lyon.     They  show  not 


THE  DRAMA  AND  REAL  LIFE  159 

a  realistic  individual  portrait,  but  the  essence  and 
tendency  of  dissent,  its  form  and  body ;  show  its  leading 
characteristics  in  full  and  unchecked  sway,  disclose  its 
ignoble  possibilities,  foreshadow  its  ignoble  end,  in  a 
powerful  and  truthful  way  that  George  Eliot's  more 
exact  and  realistic  creation  does  not  suggest.  The 
sterling  and  lovable  qualities  of  Rufus  Lyon ;  his 
integrity,  his  learning,  his  piety,  his  beautiful  homely 
nature  were  indeed  to  be  found  amongst  dissenters 
of  his  day,  and  are  still  to  be  found.  But  most  of 
the  traits  that  distinguish  Rufus  Lyon  are  traits  of 
our  general  English  character  at  its  best;  inheritances 
and  possessions  which  came  to  him,  not  as  a  dissenter, 
but  from  our  common  national  past ;  and  from  the 
Anglican  Church  whence  English  dissent  split  off. 
The  chief  and  distinguishing  traits  of  Stiggins  and 
Chadband,  though  outrageously  overdrawn  and  ac- 
centuated, are  yet  the  distinctive  and  special  marks  of 
English  dissent;  they  are  never  found  outside  English 
dissenting  life,  and  the  American  sects  which  have 
descended  from  it ;  they  are  what  specialize  English 
dissent  and  make  it  a  distinct  variety,  a  distinct  species 
for  the  sociologist.  And  though  Stiggins  and  Chadband 
are  not  nearly  as  true  to  real  life  as  Rufus  Lyon  ;  though 
they  are  quite  one-sided  and  overdrawn,  they  are  yet 
imaginatively  more  true ;  and  the  public  instinct  is  a 
right  one,  which  has  seized  on  them,'and  has  made  them 
types  and  symbols  of  English  dissent  throughout  the 
English  race. 


X 

STANDARDIZING  THE    DRAMA 

A  lecture  delivered  to  the  O.P.  Club  on  Sunday  evening,  February 
6th,  1910.    Chairman,  Mr.  Norman  McKinnell. 

It  is  many  years  since  I  have  spoken  to  a  gathering  of 
playgoers.  And  to-night  I  have  only  to  affirm  and 
enlarge  the  two  or  three  great  simple  rules  which  for 
many  years  I  have  been  asking  English  playgoers  to 
accept  as  the  only  basis  of  any  school  of  English  drama 
worthy  of  being  called  national,  worthy  of  being  regarded 
with  pride,  worthy  of  even  being  talked  about. 

I  am  afraid  you  are  beginning  to  eye  me  as  you  do 
some  impertinent  stranger,  in  badly  fitting  black  cloth 
and  black  gloves,  who  on  a  fine  Sunday  evening  arrests 
you  with  an  oily  smirk,  thrusts  a  tract  into  your  hand, 
and  demands  in  a  painfully  earnest  voice,  "  Are  you 
saved?"  Pray  try  to  regard  me  otherwise.  Let  me 
rather  liken  myself  to  an  old  and  grateful  and  faithful 
servant  of  English  playgoers — say  a  butler  who  takes  a 
real  interest  that  the  family  he  serves  shall  live  delicately, 
in  well-built  and  well-appointed  rooms,  with  fine  damask 
linen,  and  the  choicest  dishes  and  wines. 

About  twenty-seven  years  ago  I  helped  my  friends, 
Mr.  Carl  Hentschel  and  Mr.  Heneage  Mandell,  to  found 
the  original  Playgoers'  Club.  At  that  time  the  active 
body  of  first-nighters  in  the  pit  and  gallery  were 
generally'regarded  as  turbulent,  pestilent  fellows  whom 
it  was  dangerous  to  encourage,  and  whom  it  was  wise 
and  dignified  to  ignore.  1  did  not  take  that  view.  I  felt 
that  if   we  were  to  have  an  English  drama,  it  would 

160 


STANDARDIZING  THE  DRAMA  i6i 

be  well  there  should  be  a  good  understanding  between 
those  who  wrote  and  acted  it,  and  those  who  paid  to 
support  it.  An  understanding  of  some  kind  always 
comes  about  in  the  long  run  by  the  simple  process  of 
playgoers  staying  away  from  the  plays  that  they  don't 
like.  But  this  process  does  not  tend  to  a  good  under- 
standing between  playgoers  and  playwrights.  It  tends 
to  a  bad  understanding ;  for  the  playgoer  is  disappointed 
in  not  getting  what  instantly  amuses  him  ;  and  the  play- 
wright is  disappointed,  because  he  often  finds  that  his 
best  and  most  thoughtful  work  does  not  instantly  win 
recognition ;  does  not  command  sufficient  support  to  be 
kept  on  the  boards.  Above  all,  the  absence  of  any  direct 
means  of  communication  between  playwright  and  play- 
goer tends  to  shut  out  all  new  and  striking  developments; 
to  leave  the  possessor  of  new  ideas  and  the  sayer  of  new 
things  to  the  chance  of  failure,  because  his  play  is 
regarded  from  a  different  standpoint  from  that  he 
intended ;  or  is  condemned  on  a  wrong  issue  ;  or  is 
passed  over  because  it  has  not  struck  the  right  section 
of  playgoers. 

For  these,  and  for  many  other  reasons ;  for  the  en- 
couragement of  a  general  interest  in  the  drama ;  for  the 
discussion  of  all  questions  relating  to  it,  I  am  heartily  in 
accord  with  the  motive  that  founded  and  continues  such 
clubs  as  the  O.P.  Club. 

But  it  is  superfluous  to  declare  this  now  that  the 
Club  is  an  assured  and  growing  success.  I  venture  to 
congratulate  Mr.  Carl  Hentschel  and  myself  that  we 
declared  it  so  long  ago  as  1884,  when  such  a  declaration 
brought  only  ridicule  and  abuse.  And  we  backed  our 
opinion  with  sufficient  solid  support  to  establish  the 
parent  club  to  this,  the  original  Playgoers'  Club. 

May  I  then  set  at  the  head  of  this  lecture  the  same 
words  that  I  set  at  the  head  of  the  first  lecture  I  gave  to 
playgoers  in  October,  1884?  In  trying  to  foreshadow 
and  sketch  the  aims  and  destiny  of  the  Playgoers'  Club, 
I  said : 

M 


i62     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

"  To  be  a  member  of  this  Club  implies  a  devotion  to 
the  interests  of  the  Drama  for  its  own  sake,  not  as  an 
idle  amusement  for  a  vacant  hour,  but  as  the  serious  and 
fine  art  which  has  for  its  end  the  portrayal  of  all  the 
varying  passions  of  the  human  heart,  and  all  the  chances 
and  changes  of  our  mortal  life." 

I  fear  I  cannot  claim  that  those  words  quite  correctly 
gauge  the  tastes  and  aims  of  the  great  body  of  English 
Playgoers,  or  of  such  of  them  as  form  the  great  majority 
of  this  Club;  or  that  I  then  gave  a  lead  which  the 
discussions  and  debates  and  main  drift  of  the  Playgoers' 
Club  and  the  O.P.  Club  have  since  followed  and 
exemplified.  Rather  I  seem  in  some  quarters  to  have 
given  ground  for  offence ;  and  in  other  quarters  for 
constant  and  reiterated  misunderstanding  and  misstate- 
ments of  my  views  and  convictions.  But  if  I  did  not 
then  interpret  and  set  forth  the  tastes  and  aims  of  the 
great  majority  of  playgoers,  did  I  interpret  and  set  forth 
the  tastes  and  aims  of  the  active  vanguard  of  them  ? 

I  will  suppose  our  question  and  theme  to-night  to  be 
these — "  What  kind  of  English  drama  do  we  wish  mainly 
and  predominantly  to  establish,  and  by  our  presence 
and  influence  to  aid  in  establishing  all  over  the  Empire? 
In  what  way  do  we  wish  the  main  body  of  our  fellow- 
citizens  to  spend  the  three  or  four  hours  of  evening 
leisure  which  for  the  many  millions  of  them,  busy  in 
stifling  deadening  industrialism,  is  all  that  they  can 
count  their  life  on  week-days  ?  What  kind  of  product 
would  we  like  to  see  holding  our  theatres,  amusing  and 
stimulating  our  vast  populations,  influencing  their  tastes, 
chastening  their  manners,  enlarging  their  ideas,  bringing 
colour  and  beauty  into  their  drab  existence,  broadening 
their  outlook  upon  life,  sometimes  perhaps  insensibly 
guiding  and  shaping  their  conduct  ?  What  kind  of 
drama,  or  rather  what  kinds  of  drama,  would  we  at  the 
end  of  our  career  as  playgoers  wish  to  point  to  and 
say,  "  I  helped  this  on ;  I  applauded  that  when  others 
were  hooting  it ;    I   stuck  up  for  such  a  kind  of  play, 


STANDARDIZING  THE   DRAMA  163 

argued  for  it,  defended  it,  because  that  is  the  sort  of 
drama  which  I  thought  worthy  to  occupy  the  leisure 
and  interest  of  the  citizens  of  a  great]  Empire,  likely  to 
quicken  their  emotional,  intellectual,  or  spiritual  life, 
that  is,  to  give  them  more  life  "  ? 

What  is  the  sort  of  drama  that  as  citizens  we  wish 
to  see  prevail,  and  become  truly  popular  and  operative, 
and  to  win  a  place  of  honour  in  public  esteem,  and  to 
be  called  the  English  Drama  ?  Whatever  his  own 
private  practice  may  be,  I  do  not  think  I  should  rightly 
interpret  the  tastes  and  aspirations  of  any  one  here  if 
I  said,  "  We  want  legs  and  tomfoolery  to  prevail ;  we 
admire  them  ;  we  understand  them ;  we  enjoy  them, 
and  there's  an  end  of  the  whole  matter."  Very  well. 
There  is  an  end  of  the  whole  matter,  if  that  sums  up 
your  views  and  aspirations.  If  that  is  the  final  decision 
of  the  great  body  of  English  playgoers,  it  is  obviously 
useless  to  debate.     There  is  nothing  to  debate  about. 

But  I  dare  say  many  of  you  would  reply,  "  Well,  at 
any  rate,  legs  and  tomfoolery  don't  bore  us,  and  when 
we  go  to  a  theatre  we  are  not  going  to  pay  to  be 
bored."  There  I  am  wholly  with  you.  If  there  is  one 
man  who  commands  my  most  cordial  sympathy,  who 
is  my  sworn  brother,  it  is  the  man  who  declines  to 
pay  his  sixpence  or  his  half-guinea  to  be  bored.  There 
is  a  good  deal  to  be  said  for  legs  and  tomfoolery  as 
specifics  against  boredom.  I'm  going  to  say  something 
in  their  favour  in  a  few  minutes.  I  have  for  the 
moment  placed  them  in  direct  antithesis  to  drama, 
because  in  our  present  conditions  they  are  the  greatest 
enemy  to  drama ;  and  because  just  now  they  constitute 
the  great  staple,  the  enormous  bulk  of  the  entertain- 
ment that  is  being  nightly  off'ered  in  the  thousands 
of  theatres  and  music-halls  of  the  British  Empire. 

Now  I  am  going  to  make  one  or  two  handsome 
admissions  to  the  advocates  for  "  legs  and  tomfoolery  " 
and  amusement  at  any  price.  I  have  placed  "  legs  and 
tomfoolery  "  in  direct  contrast  to  drama.     If  any  one  of 


i64    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

you  happen  to  remember  any  utterances  of  mine  on  the 
Drama,  you  will  most  surely  call  to  mind  my  often 
repeated  entreaty  to  English  playgoers :—"  Separate 
your  Drama  from  your  popular  amusement." 

If  I  do  not  meet  with  too  much  opposition  I 
shall  by  and  by  submit  that  appeal  to  you  to-night. 
Meantime  I  will  own  to  you  that  the  drama  and  popular 
amusement  never  can  be  separated.  And  I  will  give 
you  the  reason. 

The  drama  is  not  like  any  other  art.  A  picture  is 
painted  for  a  single  spectator ;  or  at  most  for  no  more 
than  the  group  of  three  or  four  spectators  who  can 
comfortably  stand  in  front  of  it.  A  book  is  written  for 
a  single  reader  at  a  time ;  or  at  most  for  the  three  or 
four  who  can  hear  it  read  aloud.  The  picture  and  book 
are  judged  in  cold  blood.  Not  so  the  play.  Any 
popular  play  in  its  every  representation  appeals  to  a 
more  or  less  excited  mob  ;  all  of  different  ages,  with 
more  or  less  different  moods,  different  tempers,  different 
tastes,  different  ideals,  different  opinions,  different  states 
of  digestion,  different  emotions,  different  degrees  of 
education.  Now  most  plays  try  to  meet  an  audience  on 
some  common  level  ground  where  there  can  be  some 
sort  of  temporary  agreement  and  unity.  So  far  as  the 
Drama  is  concerned,  there  is  much  to  be  said  for  Tolstoi's 
contention  that  Art  is  something  which  instantly  appeals 
to,  instantly  pleases,  the  simplest  people.  Some  such 
unity  of  appeal  is  present  in  every  dramatist's  mind 
when  he  writes  his  play.  I  confess  to  a  hearty  dislike 
for  all  hole  and  corner  drama,  for  all  plays  that  mainly 
appeal  to  cliques,  or  coteries,  or  whims.  Especially 
objectionable  to  me  is  the  play  that  appeals  merely  to 
superior  persons. 

Very  good  plays  can  be  written  for  a  class,  or  even 
for  a  specific  moral  purpose.  But  then  they  have  to  be 
good  plays  first,  and  you  soon  forget  all  about  the  class 
they  are  meant  to  touch,  and  most  likely  all  about  the 
moral   purpose   they   are   meant    to   enforce.     Shelley 


STANDARDIZING  THE   DRAMA  165 

wrote  poetry  to  prove  that  it  is  wrong  to  eat  mutton 
chops.  But  then  it  was  good  poetry,  and  his  vege- 
tarianism didn't  matter,  Dickens  wrote  a  story  to  show 
that  it  was  wrong  to  ill-treat  workhouse  children.  But 
then  it  was  2^ good  story;  and  we  cherish  it  and  admire 
it  still ;  not  because  it  protects  workhouse  children,  but 
because  it  contains  the  characters  of  Bumble,  and  Fagan, 
the  Artful  Dodger,  and  Bill  Sykes  and  Nancy.  It  is 
the  artist  who  has  survived ;  not  the  moralist,  not  the 
reformer.  Good  plays  then  can  be  written  for  a  specific 
moral  purpose,  or  for  a  class  purpose,  provided  that 
unconsciously,  the  artist,  or  the  wit,  or  the  storyteller 
swamps  the  moralist,  and  his  moral  purpose,  and  makes 
him  of  no  account. 

This  is  rather  a  long  digression,  but  I  wanted  to 
establish  the  pretty  evident  fact  that  plays  to  be  suc- 
cessful must  have  an  almost  universal  appeal,  or  an 
appeal  to  a  very  large  class.  This  is  why  many  really 
good  plays  fail.  They  are  produced  at  a  theatre  where 
their,  particular  appeal  does  not  find  a  sufficiently 
numerous  audience  whose  general  tastes  and  sym- 
pathies are  awakened  in  response.  But  any  socialistic 
play  will  find  a  rapturous  reception  at  the  hands  of  a 
purely  socialist  audience.  And  any  suffragette  play 
will  be  hailed  as  a  masterpiece  by  any  audience  com- 
posed of  suffragettes.  And  constantly  the  most  witless 
farrago  of  legs  and  tomfoolery  meets  with  an  enormous 
success,  because  all  of  us  more  or  less  like  legs  and 
tomfoolery. 

Still,  very  few  plays  hit  all  audiences,  or  all  moods, 
or  all  tastes  of  any  audience.  And  the  playwright  not 
only  consciously  or  unconsciously  tries  to  please  his 
audience  on  the  common  level  ground  of  their  universal 
emotions,  or  their  love  of  fun,  or  their  love  of  horror 
— he  also  tries  in  different  parts  of  his  play  to  meet 
and  satisfy  playgoers  of  different  tastes,  and  diff'erent 
humours,  and  diff'erent  views  of  life.  He  shapes  his 
play    so    that    each    playgoer    may   be    interested  or 


i66    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

amused  at  some  time,  and  by  some  scene  of  the  per- 
formance. This  aim  sometimes  mars  the  unity  and 
perfection  of  his  work.  But  the  governing  fact  remains 
that  all  members  of  the  audience  have  to  be  kept  so  far 
as  possible  interested  throughout  the  entire  play.  Now 
some  of  the  members  of  every  audience  at  every  ordinary 
performance  have  come  with  the  object  of  having  some 
fun  out  of  it.  And  some  of  these,  perhaps  most  of  them, 
are  almost  sure  to  have  very  elementary  notions  of 
what  constitutes  fun,  and  wit,  and  humour.  But  the 
playwright  has  got  to  interest  them  all,  or  be  damned. 
This  state  of  things  is  a  universal  condition  of  play 
production. 

Very  few  plays  are  permanently  popular  that  do  not 
recognize  and  provide  for  this  necessarily  composite 
character  of  every  audience.  It  was  a  marked  feature 
of  Elizabethan  audiences — audiences  that  welcomed  and 
applauded  plays  on  the  very  highest  levels  of  poetry 
and  imagination.  But  there  were  groundlings  then  ; 
groundlings  in  intellect  as  well  as  groundlings  in  loca- 
tion of  places.  There  are  many  groundlings  in  intellect 
among  our  fashionable  audiences  of  to-day.  But  they 
pay  their  half-guineas.  In  London  to-day  not  a  single 
actor,  or  author,  or  manager  can  touch  sixpence;  not  a 
crust  of  bread  or  a  pint  of  beer  can  be  earned  for  a 
stage  carpenter  until  about  a  thousand  pounds  a  week 
has  been  first  taken  for  necessary  expenses.  Under  this 
very  hard  condition  is  every  play  produced;  and  the 
best  play  that  brings  in  fifty  pounds  a  week  less  than 
expenses  has  soon  to  be  taken  off.  How  many  fine 
books  or  fine  pictures  would  survive  such  a  killing 
test  ?  Is  it  a  wonder  that  the  general  level  of  serious 
play  production  is  so  low?  And  that  legs  and  tom- 
foolery are  triumphant  because  of  their  universal 
appeal  ? 

Well,  I  have  briefly  sketched  the  governing  main 
condition  of  playwriting  ;  this  necessity  of  an  appeal 
on  the  part  of  the  playwright  to  such  tastes  and  emotions 


STANDARDIZING  THE  DRAMA  167 

and  moods  as  are  likely  to  be  found  in  every  member 
of  every  audience ;  and  also  the  kindred  necessity  of  an 
appeal  to  all  the  varying  humours  and  tastes  of  humanity  ; 
including  the  highest  and  the  lowest,  on  the  chance  of 
hitting  everybody  in  the  audience  at  some  time  during 
the  performance ;  either  by  the  sword  of  pathos,  or  the 
arrow  of  wit,  or  merely  by  the  bludgeon  of  low,  coarse, 
ribald  humour.  And  this  latter  weapon  is  the  easiest 
to  employ,  and  the  safest  to  get  immediately  home. 
You  may  be  sliced  by  a  sword,  or  pierced  by  an  arrow, 
or  winged  by  a  bullet,  and  never  feel  it  or  know  any- 
thing about  it  at  the  time.  But  when  somebody  bangs 
you  with  a  bludgeon  you  know  at  once  that  you  are  hit. 

For  these  reasons  then,  it  is  impossible  to  separate 
our  drama  and  our  popular  amusement  on  the  actual 
stage ;  they  will  always  be  inextricably  mixed  and 
muddled  in  varying  proportions.  Goethe,  as  Professor 
Brander  Matthews  reminds  us,  has  graphically  sym- 
bolized this  intimate  and  inseparable  nature  of  the 
drama  and  popular  amusement  in  the  two  prologues 
to  Faust. 

You  will  remember  that  in  the  first  prologue  the 
clown  has  some  very  wise  things  to  say.  The  poet 
has  been  loftily  abusing  the  motley  multitude  and 
the  noisy  crowd  who  form  the  bulk  of  every  audience, 
and  has  been  appealing  to  the  verdict  of  posterity. 
But  the  clown  replies  to  the  poet : 

"  This  cant  about  posterity  I  hate  ; 
About  posterity  were  I  to  prate 
Who  then  the  living  would  amuse  ?     For  they 
Will  have  diversion,  ay,  and  'tis  their  due. 
To  work  then  !     Prove  a  master  in  your  art. 
Let  phantasy  with  all  her  choral  train, 
Sense,  reason,  feeling,  passion,  bear  their  part. 
But  mark  !     Let  folly  also  mingle  in  the  strain  ! 
Your  finished  gentleman  you  ne'er  can  please  ; 
A  growing  mind  alone  will  grateful  prove." 

In  the  first  prologue  the  scene  is  laid  in  the  wings 
of  the   theatre ;   and  the   characters   are  the  manager. 


i68     FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

the  poet,  and  the  down.  In  the  second  prologue  the 
scene  is  laid  in  Heaven ;  and  the  characters  are  the 
Lord  God,  the  Angels,  the  Archangels,  and  Mephis- 
topheles. 

What,  the  Eternal  Father  and  the  seraphic  host,  and 
Punch  and  Judy?  Even  so,  these  two  groups  of 
personages ;  and  all  the  angels  and  devils,  and  all  the 
many  millions  of  men  and  women  that  lie  between 
them,  down  to  the  woodenest  figure  that  jerks  in  the 
woodenest  farce,  or  squeaks  at  the  street  corner ! 
These  are  our  dramatis  personae.  The  Heavenly 
Mansions,  and  a  puppet  box  in  the  meanest  alley  ? 
Even  so,  and  all  the  waving  landscapes  and  seascapes, 
and  all  imaginable  streets  and  lanes,  and  by-paths  and 
palaces,  and  cottages,  and  dens,  and  attics  that  lie 
between  them.  These  are  our  scenery.  The  drama 
like  a  benevolent  octopus  throws  out  its  all-embracing 
tentacles  and  draws  everything  in  for  its  nourishment 
and  delight.  The  drama  has  many  disadvantages  com- 
pared with  the  other  fine  arts,  but  it  has  the  supreme 
advantage  of  universality  of  appeal.  It  is  commensurate 
with  the  whole  of  humanity.  Poetry  and  painting  and 
literature  are  constantly  showing  tendencies  to  become 
precious,  superior,  affected,  incomprehensible  ;  to  lose 
themselves  up  little  by-lanes ;  to  get  away  from  the 
main  roads  of  sanity  and  universality.  Of  course,  the 
great  public  at  last  pulls  them  up  and  brings  them  back. 
The  drama  too  at  times  shows  the  same  tendencies  to 
become  narrow,  cliquish,  affected,  freakish  ;  to  lose  touch 
with  actuality,  with  the  plain  verities  of  life.  But  how 
soon  the  playwright  gets  cuffed  back  to  general  sanity, 
and  the  discipline  of  common-sense. 

I  have  dwelt  upon  this  point,  because  I  wish  to 
explain  how  cordially  and  frankly  I  accept  and  welcome 
the  doctrine  of  the  catholicity  and  universality  of  the 
drama;  how  eager  I  am  that  it  should  include  all  classes 
and  forms,  even  the  most  hybrid,  that  delight  and 
amuse  the  people.     I  suppose  it  is  useless  for  me  to 


STANDARDIZING  THE   DRAMA  169 

affirm,  as  I  have  done  hundreds  of  times  before,  that  I 
have  never  said  a  single  word  against  popular  amuse- 
ment in  itself  I  simply  repeat  that  statement.  I  have 
always  said  that  popular  amusement  is  both  good  and 
necessary.  And  I  would  not  proclaim  myself  so  hope- 
lessly removed  and  cut  off  from  ordinary  humanity  as 
not  to  own  to  my  love  for  "legs  and  tomfoolery."  By 
all  means  let  us  have  "  legs  and  tomfoolery."  They  are 
excellent  things — especially  when  the  dancing  is  the 
dancing  of  Pavlova  or  of  Genee,  and  when  the  tom- 
foolery is  the  wise,  grateful,  refreshing,  lifegiving 
tomfoolery  of  Rabelais. 

I  think  I  have  amply  defined  my  attitude  towards  the 
various  species  of  drama  and  popular  amusement.  I 
hope  I  have  shown  that  I  am  not  sour,  or  narrow,  or 
bitten  by  the  maggot  of  making  the  drama  a  sort  of 
Sunday  School  for  grown-up  people. 

Now  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  look  at  the  other  side 
of  the  question.  We  have  seen  that  on  the  stage — the 
modern  stage,  at  least — the  drama  and  popular  amuse- 
ment will  always  be  mixed  and  blended]  in  various 
shades  and  proportions.  This  has  always  been  the  case  ; 
except  in  Greek  tragedy,  where  the  drama  was  in  some 
sense  a  religious  ceremony.  Of  course  the  Greek 
religion  was  wholly  different  from  what  is  generally 
meant  by  religion  in  modern  Western  civilization. 
Moreover,  Aeschylus  and  Sophocles  had  to  unbend  and 
provide  a  Satyric  play  alongside  their  tragedies.  There 
is  no  reason  in  the  nature  of  things  why  the  drama 
should  not  again  become  something  of  a  religious 
ceremony.  I  do  not  wish  to  make  it  so  myself;  nor  is  it 
likely  to  take  that  form  in  our  day  and  generation. 
Meantime  we  cheerfully  accept  the  fact  that  the  drama  is 
always  likely  to  be  more  or  less  connected  with  popular 
amusement  on  our  stage.  But  the  very  fact  that  we 
speak  of  them  under  different  names  shows  that  they 
are  essentially  different  things ;  that  by  their  nature  they 
are  quite  distinct.     Do  you  wish  me  to  prove  this? 


I/O    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

Some   time   ago   I   went   into  a  theatre   and  saw  a 
popular  comedian  in  one  of  liis  leading  scenes.     He  was 
uproariously  received  on  his   entrance,   and   when   he 
shouted  some  opening  catchwords  of  sheer  nonsense, 
they  were  received  with  frantic  delight  by  the  audience. 
Owing  to  my  defective  education  I  could  not  attach  any 
meaning  to  his  phrase ;  it  consisted  of  six  English  words 
all  of  them  well  known  to  me,  but  they  did  not  form  any 
sense.    They  were  not  a  sarcastic  reply  to  any  obviously 
foolish  sentiment  or   proposition.     As,  for  instance,  if 
somebody  had  remarked  "  Popular  education  has  pro- 
duced a  remarkably  wise  generation  of   Englishmen," 
and  the  comedian  had  replied  "Tiddy  fol  lol,"  or  "Ta! 
Ra!    Ra!    Bosh!    De!   Ay!"     His  catchwords  had   no 
meaning  whatever;    yet   he   kept   on   repeating  them; 
and  each   time  he   repeated   them   he   received   louder 
applause.     And  this  applause  came  as  much  from  the 
stalls  as  from  the  cheaper  parts  of  the  house.     If  you 
took  the  words  you  could  not  have  supposed  before- 
hand that  they  would  cause  amusement,  but  rather  the 
cold  blank  wonder  with  which  you  regard  a  fool.      Yet 
I  am  convinced  that  the  audience  was  amused,  because 
they  kept  on  laughing  and  applauding.     As  the  scene 
went  on  he  varied  his  sentence  with  one  or  two  others 
of  the  same  kind.     His  verbal  display  however,  enthusi- 
astically as  it  was   received,  did   not  receive   as  much 
recognition  as  his  business  with  an  accordion.     He  did 
not  play  any  tune  on  the  accordion ;  he  kept  on  sound- 
ing single  notes  and  playing  funny  tricks  with  the  stops> 
and  using  it  for  every  possible  purpose  except  that  of 
producing  music.     This  went  on  for  about  ten  minutes, 
and   at  the  end  he  received   a  tremendous  ovation.     I 
suppose    his   salary   was   about   equal   to   that    of  the 
Chancellor  of   the    Exchequer.     I   hope  you   will   not 
unkindly  suggest  that  he  was  more  wisely  and  usefully 
employed  than  our  present  Chancellor. 

A  short  time  after  I  watched  an  audience  at  a  per- 
formance of  The  School  for  Scandal.     Here,  again,  the 


STANDARDIZING  THE   DRAMA  171 

amusement  was  genuine;  but  it  was  altogether  less 
boisterous,  less  hearty,  less  spontaneous  and  irresistible 
than  the  amusement  which  the  popular  comedian  caused. 
And  the  loudest  laughter  was  not  caused  by  Sheridan's 
wittiest  lines,  but  by  some  rather  foolish  modern  gags 
and  business  of  the  actors.  Still  Sheridan's  wit  and  his 
comedy  of  character  did  meet  with  recognition  and 
appreciation. 

Again,  a  third  time,  I  watched  a  play  of  Ibsen's. 
Here,  with  a  comparatively  small  audience,  there  was 
curious  breathless  interest  and  intense  enjoyment  and 
amusement.  You  must  allow  me  to  call  it  amusement, 
using  the  word  amusement  in  its  wider  and  derivative 
meaning.  In  this  sense,  and  it  is  the  only  sense  in 
which  it  can  be  used  in  speaking  of  the  drama  generally, 
we  may  say  that  any  play  or  entertainment  which  does 
not  bore  an  audience,  amuses  them.  I  am  not  here  hold- 
ing a  brief  for  modern  realistic  drama.  No  kind  of 
theatrical  entertainment  seems  to  me  so  worthy  of  being 
avoided  as  a  realistic  play  that  merely  paints  some  dull 
corner  of  modern  life  just  as  it  is,  without  humour, 
without  imagination,  without  philosophy,  without 
passion.  These  are  the  things  that  redeem  and  justify 
realism  in  the  drama  and  in  every  art. 

To  return  to  our  three  audiences.  They  were  all 
intensely  amused  and  interested  at  the  theatre  by  wholly 
different  means  and^  to  wholly  different  ends.  For  you 
will  not  tell  me  that  the  amusement  derived  from  the 
tomfoolery  of  watching  the  comedian  play  funny  tricks 
with  an  saccordion  is  at  all  of  the  same  kind  as  the 
amusement  to  be  obtained  from  hearing  Sheridan's  witty 
lines ;  and  in  noticing  his  broad  delineation  of  artificial 
human  character.  Still  less  is  it  like  the  intense  pleasure 
of  watching  a  play  where  the  dramatist  is  too  much 
absorbed  in  his  great  business  of  showing  you  a  deeply 
conceived  study  of  human  life  and  character,  to  tickle 
you  with  wit  or  epigram  or  funny  business. 

I  say  that  while  all  these  audiences  got    pleasure 


1/2    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

from  their  visit  to  the  theatre,  their  pleasure  was  of  a 
wholly  different  kind  ;  it  was  stirred  by  different  means  ; 
it  came  from  a  different  source.  In  the  case  of  Sheridan's 
comedy,  however,  the  pleasures  of  drama  and  of  mere 
amusement  were  mixed.  In  the  others,  the  two  pleasures 
were  as  widely  different  as  the  pleasure  of  taking  a  glass 
of  whiskey  and  a  cigar  is  from  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a 
landscape  by  Turner.  These  may  both  be  genuine 
pleasures,  both  even  desirable  pleasures,  but  they  are 
wholly  different  in  their  nature.  And  I  affirm  that  the 
two  pleasures  I  have  described  are  not  only  different  in 
their  nature,  but  that  the  one  is  the  true  pleasure  to  be 
derived  from  Drama;  and  the  other  is  the  pleasure  of 
cheap  empty  amusement  not  quite  so  high  intellectually 
as  a  game  at  bowls  or  skittles.  And  the  pleasure  from 
the  Drama  is  not  only  higher  in  its  nature,  but  is  greater 
in  its  degree,  and  is  the  only  one  that  is  worthy  of 
being  treasured  and  remembered. 

But  you  say  what  is  the  good  of  telling  us  this  ?  We 
know  and  recognize  the  difference  in  these  two  pleasures. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  many  members  of  the  O.  P.  Club 
are  as  well  versed  in  this  matter  as  I  am,  and  are  as 
eager  as  myself  to  have  a  school  of  drama  that  shall 
give  us  the  true  pleasure  of  the  drama,  that  of  seeing  life 
represented  and  interpreted  on  the  stage. 

But  is  there  any  such  discrimination  amongst  the 
great  body  of  English  playgoers  ?  I  constantly  listen 
to  conversations  about  the  theatre  by  strangers  in 
railway  trains,  in  hotels,  in  the  theatre  itself  And 
though  there  is  sometimes  real  criticism  and  real  dis- 
cernment, in  the  majority  of  cases  I  find  that  the  theatre 
is  generally  regarded  by  playgoers  as  a  funny  place 
where  funny  people  do  funny  things,  and  the  play  is 
generally  judged  upon  that  level.  It  follows  that  if  by 
chance  the  average  playgoer  goes  to  a  theatre  where 
the  dramatist  and  actors  are  trying  to  give  him  the 
true  pleasure  of  drama,  he  is  merely  bored,  because 
he  is  looking  for  a  comedian  who  salutes  him  with  a 


STANDARDIZING  THE  DRAMA  173 

senseless  catchword,  and  plays  all  sorts  of  tricks  with 
an  accordion,  except  getting  music  out  of  it.  So  do 
other  authors  and  actors  play  all  sorts  of  tricks  with 
human  nature  except  getting  its  right  music  out  of  it. 
And  while  this  immense  majority  of  audiences  come  to 
the  theatre  in  this  temper  and  with  these  tastes,  we 
can  have  no  worthy  national  drama.  The  first  step  is 
to  get  some  considerable  body  of  them  to  discriminate 
between  the  two  kinds  of  pleasure ;  to  show  them 
that  the  drama  can  give  them  a  higher  and  more  lasting 
pleasure;  to  persuade  them  to  choose  this  higher 
pleasure  because  it  is  greater  in  degree,  as  well  as 
higher  in  kind. 

Thus  we  have  seen  that  though  the  drama  and 
popular  amusement  can  never  be  wholly  separated  on 
the  stage,  yet  our  only  hope  of  founding  a  school  of 
national  drama  lies  in  separating  them  in  our  minds 
and  judgments ;  and  in  getting  a  larger  and  larger 
number  of  playgoers  to  make  this  distinction,  and  to 
demand  this  higher  pleasure  in  the  theatre.  For  I  hope 
I  am  speaking  the  wishes  of  at  least  the  majority  of  my 
fellow  members  of  the  O.  P.  Club  in  saying  that  we,  as 
playgoers,  do  desire  to  see  the  English  drama  taking  a 
leading  place  as  a  fine  art,  and  an  instrument  of  civiliza- 
tion throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  our  Empire. 
I  cannot  imagine  any  other  reason  for  the  existence  of 
a  Playgoers'  Club.  I  cannot  imagine  any  other  intelligible 
or  worthy  aim  or  purpose  in  our  meeting  for  debate, 
and  discussion,  and  comparison  of  opinions. 

If  you  will  allow  me,  then,  I  will  assume  that  to  be 
our  purpose  and  aim,  or  the  aim  of  some  of  us.  How 
shall  we  set  about  it?  What  kind  of  drama  do  we 
picture  to  ourselves  as  worthy  of  encouragement  and 
development  ? 

I  wish  you  to  notice  a  very  remarkable  fact.  It  is 
this ;  that  hitherto  in  any  great  outburst  of  a  national 
art — architecture,  painting,  music,  poetry,  drama,  sculp- 
ture, there  has  always  been  a  certain  homogeneity,  a 


174    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

certain  definite  form  and  mould  which  has  inspired,  and 
shaped,  and  governed  all  the  specimens  of  it.  Take  our 
Gothic  architecture.  In  each  of  its  styles,  Norman, 
Early  English,  Decorated,  Perpendicular,  there  was  one 
rigid  dominant  set  of  rules,  a  type  which  prescribed  and 
circumscribed  the  general  character  and  design  of  every 
building  that  was  erected  throughout  the  country  during 
the  reign  of  that  style.  Within  this  rigid  conformity 
there  was  wild  and  infinite  variety — in  the  Early  English 
style,  for  instance,  there  were  such  different  buildings 
as  Wells  and  Salisbury,  with  a  wealth  of  diff'ering 
detail  in  each.  There  was  plenty  of  room  for  individual 
imagination,  invention,  and  even  caprice  and  fun  in  the 
subordinate  features ;  but  the  main  designs  of  all  the 
buildings  conformed  to  a  great  type,  a  great  style,  a 
great  single  impulse,  a  great  single  idea,  which  bound 
and  united  every  architect  and  every  workman  in  the 
country.  All  the  energy  of  imagination  of  all  the 
builders  seemed  to  flow  in  one  main  channel,  and 
leave  no  surplus  for  a  rival  style,  a  rival  type  of 
design. 

Take,  again,  our  Elizabethan  drama.  Again  you  will 
find  infinite  variety  in  the  schemes  of  action ;  in  the 
music  of  the  verse ;  in  the  characters  of  the  plays ;  in 
their  humour ;  in  their  way  of  looking  at  life ;  in  the 
places  and  times  of  their  action.  But  all  this  variety 
of  individual  impulse  was  subject  to  conformity  with 
one  great  general  type.  I  think  you  will  find  it  the 
same  with  any  great  art  outburst  that  you  come  to 
examine.  There  are  many  reasons  why  such  a  unity 
and  homogeneity  of  character  and  design  and  purpose 
seem  unlikely  to  arise  in  any  art  to-day.  Perhaps  if 
any  specimens  of  our  modern  English  drama  survive  to 
delight  future  generations,  they  may  on  examination  be 
found  unconsciously  to  conform  to  some  such  general 
type  and  character.  It  is,  however,  far  more  likely  that 
future  generations  will  not  take  the  trouble  to  examine 
them.     Still  we  must  do  our  work  sincerely  as  if  we 


STANDARDIZING  THE  DRAMA  175 

meant  it  to  survive — at  least  to  be  ready  to  meet  future 
examination  of  our  aims  and  purposes. 

But  at  present  we  seem  to  have  no  settled  type,  no 
settled  style.  That  seems  to  be  inevitable  in  our  con- 
fused civilization.  We  have  many  types  and  many  forms 
and  many  styles,  and  most  of  them  seem  to  be  lifeless 
imitations  ;  lifeless  copies  of  the  Elizabethan  drama ;  of 
the  romantic  cape  and  sword  drama;  of  the  French 
modern  drama ;  of  the  Norwegian  drama.  While  the 
one  thing  that  we  English  do  supremely  well  because  we 
do  it  spontaneously,  is  the  curious  entertainment  which 
I  have  described  as  "  legs  and  tomfoolery." 

William  Morris  used  to  say  that  the  only  style  of 
really  living  English  architecture  is  the  style  of  the 
modern  corner  public-house.  That  is  what  we  build 
naturally,  easily,  spontaneously,  with  unconscious  in- 
spiration. Other  and  finer  buildings  do  indeed  arise  in 
our  midst ;  but  for  the  most  part  they  are  comparatively 
dead,  mere  copies  of  other  and  remote  styles  of  build- 
ing. But  a  suburban  villa  or  a  corner  public-house 
we  build  easily  and  spontaneously,  as  a  symbol  and 
expression  of  our  architectural  needs  and  desires.  It 
is  something  the  same  with  the  drama.  While  we  seem 
to  write  comedy  and  drama  laboriously ;  with  difficulty ; 
and  for  the  most  part  in  a  dull,  uninspired  way,  our  real 
spontaneous  national  delight,  seems  to  be  in  those 
pieces  which  with  your  permission  I  have  called  "  legs 
and  tomfoolery."  Well,  it  is  useless  to  build  Gothic 
Cathedrals  for  a  population  whose  architectural  demand 
is  for  suburban  villas  and  corner  public-houses.  But 
I  humbly  submit  that  a  nation  whose  spontaneous 
impulse  and  natural  standard  in  building  declares  itself 
chiefly  in  suburban  villas  and  corner  public-houses, 
cannot  be  said  to  have  much  care  or  love  for  architec- 
ture, or  any  knowledge  of  it.  And  I  very  humbly 
submit  to  you  that  a  nation  whose  spontaneous  im- 
pulse and  natural  standard  in  drama  manifests  itself 
in     "legs    and    tomfoolery,"    and    in     little    pieces  of 


176    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

harmless  sentimentality,  cannot  be  said  to  have  any 
high  regard  for  its  drama ;  any  real  care  or  love  for 
it ;  any  knowledge  of  what  a  fine  art  it]  is,  and  what 
a  great  power  and  influence  it  might  become. 

But  here  you  will  say,  "Cannot  we  have  all  these 
kinds  of  entertainments,  all  these  kinds  of  drama,  comedy, 
tragedy,  fantasy,  pantomime,  burlesque,  tomfoolery? 
Cannot  they  all  flourish  in  our  midst?  Will  that  not 
be  the  best  general  condition  of  the  drama  when  they 
are  all  welcomed  and  supported  ?  " 

Our  present  civilization  is  widely  diff'erent  from  any- 
thing the  world  has  ever  known  ;  more  varied ;  more 
cosmopolitan;  more  shifting;  more  subversive  of  settled 
views  and  schools  of  art.  In  such  a  civilization  will 
not  the  drama,  and  indeed  all  the  arts,  be  necessarily 
an  aimless  olla  podrida?  Perhaps  that  may  be  so,  but 
it  is  not  a  comforting  prospect  to  the  artist.  We  have 
seen  that  the  drama  must  necessarily  be  popular  in 
a  sense  that  no  other  art  need  be.  To  some  extent  it 
is  undoubtedly  a  question  of  what  proportion  mere 
tomfoolery  shall  bear  to  serious  comedy  and  drama. 
With  f^alstaff'  we  may  all  like  "your  good  sherries 
sack"  and  believe  in  its  cheering  qualities;  but  when 
it  comes,  as  it  did  in  Falstaff''s  tavern  bill,  to  a  ha'porth 
of  bread  and  half  a  crown's  worth  of  sack,  we  may  be 
quite  sure  that  our  tastes  are  vitiated  and  our  digestion 
impaired. 

But  you  may  say,  are  the  proportions  so  alarming? 
Well,  look  not  merely  at  London,  but  at  the  drama 
throughout  the  Empire  ?  Take  a  list  of  the  entertain- 
ments that  will  be  played  in  the  theatres  and  Music 
Halls  of  the  United  Kingdom  to-morrow  night.  In 
London  itself  in  the  height  of  the  theatrical  season  there 
is  not  a  single  performance  of  Shakespeare.  Throughout 
the  whole  of  the  United  Kingdom  to-morrow  night 
there  are  only  four  performances  of  Shakespeare;  at  Man- 
chester, Dublin,  Dewsbury,  and  Llanelly  respectively. 

Do  you  call  that  a  satisfactory  state  of  things  ?    Take 


STANDARDIZING  THE   DRAMA  177 

the  entertainments  outside  Shakespeare.  Many  of  the 
programmes  are  very  varied  and  mixed.  But  if  you 
could  really  estimate  the  amounts  paid  to  witness 
true  drama,  and  the  amount  paid  to  witness  "legs  and 
tomfoolery,"  I  do  not  think  you  would  find  the  pro- 
portions far  different  from  those  of  the  bread  and  the  sack 
in  Falstaffs  tavern  bill.  In  the  provinces  the  drama 
may  almost  be  said  to  be  extinct,  except  for  the  rare 
visits  of  a  London  Manager.  Cultivated  people  in  the 
provinces  have  ceased  to  trouble  about  their  local 
drama;  they  do  not  go  to  the  local  theatre  except  when 
they  take  their  children  to  the  Pantomime.  The  really 
living  entertainment  in  the  provinces  is  at  the  Music 
Halls ;  and  it  may  be  most  cordially  recognized  that 
the  Music  Halls  are  gradually  improving,  and  that  they 
are  gradually  admitting  more  and  more  drama  into 
their  programmes.  It  is,  then,  partly  a  question  what 
proportion  true  drama  shall  bear  in  the  sum  of  the 
entertainment  provided  at  theatres  and  music  halls. 
If  you  as  lovers  and  students  of  the  drama  think  that 
proportion  is  satisfactory  then  you  are  content  that 
whatever  drama  we  have  shall  be  a  second-rate  thing, 
quite  inferior  in  influence  and  popularity  to  the  emptiest 
and  shallowest  kind  of  entertainment.  For  my  own 
part  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  you  cannot  have  two 
standards ;  that  when  there  is  any  art  energy  in  a 
country  it  generally  goes  into  one  distinct  and  com- 
manding form  and  style. 

It  is  not  wholly,  however,  a  question  of  proportion. 
It  is  partly  a  matter  of  habit.  The  latest  researches 
seem  to  show  that  our  tastes  and  characters  are  much 
more  largely  a  matter  of  habit  than  physiologists 
and  philosophers  have  hitherto  supposed.  We  have 
certain  tastes  and  habits  in  the  theatre  because  other 
people  have  them,  and  because  we  have  grown  into 
them  without  thinking.  It  is  declared  that  our  average 
brains  to-day  have  quite  as  much  capacity,  and  as 
many  convolutions  in  their  cortex,  as  the  average  Greek 

N 


178     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

brains  in  the  days  oi  Plato  and  Sophocles.  If  you 
had  been  born  in  Athens  about  500  b.c,  and  had  been 
fed  from  your  childhood  on  a  diet  of  iEschylus  and 
Sophocles,  instead  of  questioning  and  disagreeing  from 
my  opinions  to-night,  as  I  daresay  some  of  you  are 
doing,  you  would  be  wondering  how  any  sensible  man 
could  possibly  take  such  an  incredibly  low  and  debased 
view  of  the  functions  of  the  drama  as  I  do. 

Indeed,  it  is  nearly  all  a  matter  of  habits  and  imitation. 
We  are  more  imitative  than  monkeys.  No  playgoer 
could  have  laughed  for  fifteen  minutes  at  a  man  who  was 
shouting  senseless  perversions  of  his  native  English 
language,  and  playing  all  sorts  of  tricks  with  an 
accordion,  if  he  had  not  been  bred  in  that  mental 
atmosphere;  and  if  he  had  not  been  carefully  schooled 
and  disciplined  to  admire  that  kind  of  wit  and  humour 
by  seeing  it  constantly  praised  in  the  newspapers.  I 
believe  that,  without  great  difficulty,  a  very  large  body 
of  English  playgoers  could  easily  be  brought  to  take 
a  real  interest  in  true  drama,  to  love  it,  and  foster  it ; 
and  to  grow  more  and  more  accustomed  to  seek  their 
pleasure  at  the  theatre  in  a  representation  of  life,  rather 
than  in  perversions  of  words  and  in  meaningless  antics. 

Indeed,  with  several  recent  examples  of  successful 
appeals  on  higher  levels,  we  have  good  grounds  for 
hoping  that  the  English  drama  will  take  its  rightful 
place  in  the  national  life  whenever  a  large  claim  is  made 
with  the  right  material,  and  in  a  serious  spirit.  It 
is  as  I  say,  something  of  a  matter  of  due  proportion ; 
more  still  a  matter  of  getting  playgoers  into  a  habit  of 
appreciating  and  demanding  the  best.  If,  indeed,  there 
were  not  much  ground  for  hope  and  encouragement,  I 
would  not  have  accepted  Mr.  Carl  Hentschel's  kind 
invitation  to  address  you  to-night.  P^or  it  is  useless  to 
complain  of  a  state  of  things  that  is  irremediable.  It  is 
because  I  think  our  present  condition  is  remediable  ;'[is 
capable  of  great  and  perhaps  rapid  improvement,  that  I 
have  spoken  in  a  strain  which  some  of  you  may  have 


STANDARDIZING  THE   DRAMA  179 

thought  too  severe  and  too  pessimistic.  If  I  have  dwelt 
too  much  upon  unsatisfactory  signs  and  facts,  it  is 
because  these  are  the  only  ones  that  it  is  profitable  to 
review,  to  weigh,  and,  so  far  as  it  is  possible,  gradually 
to  change.  Perhaps  the  whole  question  has  a  greater 
national  significance  than  is  generally  attributed  to  it. 
It  is  not  a  good  symptom  that  so  much  of  our  leisure  is 
spent  in  entertainments  that  at  the  best  are  harmless, 
and  at  the  worst  are  hebetating,  intellectually  and 
spiritually  degrading.  I  do  not  wish  to  moralize  over- 
much;  still  less  do  I  wish  to  join  those  prophets  of 
national  disaster  who,  like  Jonah,  cry  aloud,  "  Yet  forty 
days  and  Nineveh  shall  be  destroyed,"  and  are  then  left 
in  the  lurch,  because  events  fail  to  back  them  up. 

But  surely  the  question  of  how  our  populace  spend 
their  evenings  is  of  the  highest  importance.  If  a  time 
of  national  trial  should  overtake  us,  we  would  not  wish 
to  be  found  playing  the  fool  in  all  our  leisure  time  ;  we 
would  wish  rather  to  set  our  house  in  order  ourselves, 
than  that  calamity,  revolution,  or  war  should  set  it  in 
order  for  us ;  pointing  grimly  to  our  favourite  evening 
pastime,  and  calling  out  to  a  chastened,  perhaps  a  frenzied 
nation,  "  Take  away  that  bauble  ! " 

We  will  not  end  upon  that  note.  If  you  will  allow 
me,  I  will  repeat  the  words  I  first  spoke  to  our  parent 
Club.  Even  if  they  do  not  sum  up  the  total  or  main 
aims  of  this  Club,  they  will  yet  sum  up  the  idea  of 
membership  which  some  of  us  hold. 

"To  be  a  member  of  this  Club  implies  a  devotion  to 
the  interests  of  the  drama  for  its  own  sake ;  not  as  an 
idle  amusement  for  a  vacant  hour,  but  as  the  serious 
and  fine  art  which  has  for  its  end  the  portrayal  of  all 
the  varying  passions  of  the  human  heart,  and  all  the 
chances  and  changes  of  our  mortal  life." 


XI 

THE   DELINEATION   OF   CHARACTER   IN    DRAMA 

A  lecture  delivered  to  the  Ethological  Society  on  Wednesday, 
May  4th,  1910.     Chairman,  Mr.  A.  B.  Walkley. 

I  DO  not  propose  to  offer  to  you  to-night  any  solution 
of  the  many  perpetual  riddles  of  human  character.  I 
fear  I  shall  rather  complicate  those  riddles  a  little  more ; 
for  I  propose  to  ask  you  a  few  minor  and  attendant 
conundrums  which  present  themselves  to  the  modern 
dramatist.  Especially  do  I  seek  to  do  my  craft  a  good 
turn  by  impressing  you  with  the  enormous  difficulties 
the  dramatist  has  to  contend  with,  when  he  tries  to 
delineate  human  character  on  our  modern  stage. 

If  we  ask  the  derivative  meaning  of  the  word 
"character,"  we  find  that  it  signifies  some  especial  and 
individual  mark ;  some  hieroglyphic  that  Nature  has 
stamped  on  a  lump  of  human  putty,  to  make  it  distinctive, 
individual,  recognizable.  This  is  the  meaning  we 
constantly  assign  to  it  in  everyday  intercourse,  in 
dealing  with  historical  personages,  with  personages  in 
fiction,  and  with  personages  in  drama.  As  Nature  has 
given  to  us  each  an  individual  physiognomy,  so  we 
assume  that  she  has  given  to  each  of  us  an  individual 
character. 

I  suppose  my  fellow  members  of  this  Society — and 
especially  those  who  have  studied  the  structure  and 
physiology  of  the  brain,  would  agree  with  me  when  I 
say  that  our  features,  and  their  varying  expressions, 
give  a  rough  and  mainly  correct  interpretation  of  the 
workings   of  the   complicated   and   individual   nervous 

180 


DELINEATION  OF  CHARACTER  IN  DRAMA    i8i 

system  that  prompts  them.  We  are  all,  more  or  less, 
connoisseurs  of  human  character.  We  are  dealing 
with  it  almost  every  hour  of  our  life.  Unconsciously, 
each  of  us  must  have  absorbed  an  enormous  amount  of 
knowledge  respecting  it.  Ordinary  laymen  judge 
character  mainly  from  the  features  and  their  expression. 
The  dramatist  and  the  novelist  also  study  character 
largely  by  these  outer  manifestations  and  signs ;  but  I 
suppose  an  expert  in  the  structure  and  physiology  of 
the  brain  (such  as  our  President)  would  always  have 
present  to  him  some  vivid  picture  of  the  structure  and 
condition  of  the  nervous  apparatus  of  any  person  with 
whom  he  was  brought  in  contact.  And  I  suppose  that 
he,  and  the  more  learned  members  of  this  Society,  would 
claim  that  this  definite  and  complicated  nervous 
apparatus  is  the  fundamental  and  veritable  instrument 
and  mechanism  of  character.  We  laymen  can  also  form 
a  rough  mental  picture  of  this  complicated  nervous 
system,  and  of  its  infinitely  complicated  workings.  I 
do  not  propose  to  go  into  any  technicalities ;  lest  in 
showing  you  how  much  I  know  of  this  subject,  I  should 
also  show  you  how  little  I  know  of  it.  Dealing  merci- 
fully then  with  my  own  ignorance,  and  with  the 
ignorance  of  those  of  my  hearers  who  are  on  my  own 
level,  I  may  say  that  the  little  learning  which  we  have 
scraped  together  on  this  subject,  has  led  us  vaguely  to 
picture  this  complicated,  nervous  structure  as  a 
mechanism  of  highly  organized  and  sensitive  atoms, 
extending  to  every  part  of  the  body,  much  as  a  telegraph 
system  runs  all  over  a  land  and  connects  every  part  of 
it  with  every  other  part.  And  this  mechanism  supplies 
the  owner  with  a  very  imperfect  map  and  mirror  of  the 
vast  outside  universe,  and  is  the  only  instrument  he  has 
to  prompt  and  direct  his  body  in  all  its  dealings  with 
that  outside  universe.  The  great  majority  of  my  fellow 
members  of  this  Society  would  agree  with  me  when  I 
claim  that  however  highly  evolved  and  organized  this 
nervous    apparatus    may   be   in   a   Shakespeare,   or   a 


i82     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

Newton,  or  a  Darwin,  it  is  yet  of  the  same  order,  and  is 
composed  of  the  same  materials  as  the  nervous  system 
of  our  fellow  creatures — the  animals.  If  anyone  is 
inclined  to  question  this  I  will  relate  a  little  scene  that 
came  under  my  observation  last  week. 

I  had  driven  into  the  stable-yard  of  an  hotel,  and 
waiting  about,  I  saw  a  mischievous  puppy  bolting  off 
with  half  an  ox  tongue.  An  aged  terrier  also  happened 
to  be  a  witness,  and  instantly  sounded  the  alarm  with  a 
series  of  rousing  barks  of  "Stop  thief!"  The  ostler 
rushed  out,  caught  the  puppy,  took  away  his  prey,  and 
gave  him  a  sound  thrashing.  Whilst  this  thrashing  was 
being  administered,  the  aged  terrier  looked  on  and 
wagged  his  tail— not  with  any  malicious,  vindictive 
delight  at  the  humiliation  and  punishment  of  a  fellow 
creature,  but  with  calm,  dignified,  magisterial  approval. 
In  that  calm,  dispassionate  wagging  of  the  tail  there 
was  no  suggestion  of  a  mere  personal  concrete  triumph. 
There  was  only;' an  abstract  majestic  contemplation  of 
justice  being  meted  out  to  a  criminal,  and  of  satisfac- 
tion thereat;  and,  justice  being  satisfied,  the  old  terrier 
hobbled  off  to  his  kennel  with  an  evident  sense  of  having 
performed  his  duty  to  society.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
classify  the  action  and  feeling  of  that  dog  as  different  in 
kind  from  the  action  and  feeling  of  a  judge,  who  having 
passed  a  deserved  sentence  upon  a  thief  or  a  murderer, 
went  home  to  a  well-earned  dinner.  I  hope  you 
will  allow  me  to  claim  that  this  underlying  nervous 
apparatus  is  the  real  clock-work  and  mechanism  of 
character  in  all  living  beings,  whether  animal  or  human. 
We  may  say,  indeed,  that  human  character  is  the  in- 
evitable expression  and  working  of  a  vast  and  highly 
evolved  nervous  structure,  whose  fundamental  plan  and 
lines  are  the  same  as  the  fundamental  plan  and  lines  of 
the  nervous  structure  of  the  animals  that  most  nearly 
approach  us.  It  is,  of  course,  enormously  more  com- 
plex, but  specialists— like  our  President— who  have 
given  their  life  to  its  study,  assure  us  that  every  human 


DELINEATION  OF  CHARACTER  IN  DRAMA    183 

perception,  every  human  passion,  every  human  feeling, 
has  its  exact  and  special  localization  in  a  particular  spot 
or  province  of  this  nervous  structure.  For  the  moment 
then,  we  will  look  beneath  the  faces  and  expressions  of 
our  fellow  creatures ;  we  will  look  beneath  their  most 
significant  and  sign-bearing  words  and  actions,  and  will 
consider  all  these  as  the  mere  outward  expression  of  a 
definite,  individual  nervous  structure  which  is  thus 
giving  its  own  individual  responses  to  the  universe, 
and  is  acting  in  its  own  individual  way.  If  we  had 
sufficiently  powerful  microscopes,  and  sufficiently 
powerful  insight  and  knowledge,  we  should  see  that 
each  of  these  nervous  structures  has  an  individual 
geography  of  its  own — is,  indeed,  the  instrument  of  an 
individual  human  character,  and  has  been  organized  to 
act  at  any  given  moment  in  a  given  way,  as  surely  as 
an  alarum  clock  will  strike  at  the  set  minute,  or  as  a 
bomb  will  explode  when  the  time-fuse  reaches  it. 

If  you  have  a  nervous  system  constructed  in  a 
certain  way,  and  after  a  certain  pattern,  it  will  make  its 
responses  to  the  universe  precisely  according  to  its 
structure  and  pattern.  It  will  continue  to  work  thus 
and  not  otherwise,  no  matter  what  maxims  of  morality 
and  religion  your  lips  may  be  babbling.  When  St.  Paul 
said,  "That  which  I  do,  I  allow  not:  for  what  I  would, 
that  do  I  not ;  but  what  I  hate,  that  do  I.  For  the  good 
that  I  would,  I  do  not ;  but  the  evil  which  I  would  not, 
that  I  do  " — when  St.  Paul  said  that,  he  was  testifying 
to  the  fact  that  our  nervous  system  works  independently 
of  our  beliefs,  and  governs  our  actions  in  defiance  of  our 
religious  notions.  And  incidentally  he  was  proving  that 
it  is  better  to  have  a  sound  nervous  system  than  a 
set  of  sound  theological  opinions.  As,  indeed,  many 
religious  people  are  busily  demonstrating  in  the  present 
day. 

We  are  here  raising  the  old  question  of  determina- 
tion and  free-will.  I  hasten  to  assure  you  that  I  will 
carefully  abstain  from  settling  that  controversy  to-night. 


i84    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

I  merely  point  it  out  to  you  incidentally,  as  one  of  the 
attendant  conundrums  that  I  promised  to  raise  during 
the  evening. 

Now  here  we  are  with  countless  millions  of  separate 
brain  structures — all  of  them  with  kindred  fundamental 
passions,  thoughts,  and  feelings ;  all  of  them  so  much 
alike  as  to  be  classified  as  human ;  all  of  them,  with 
fundamental  resemblances  to  our  fellow  creatures — the 
animals ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  each  of  them  special, 
separate,  individual,  distinct ;  inasmuch  as  although 
these  fundamental  qualities  are  all  there,  they  are  yet 
arranged  in  infinitely  varying  proportions,  and  in 
infinitely  varying  relations. 

Having  led  you  thus  far  without  in  the  least  touch- 
ing upon  the  main  subject  of  my  lecture,  and  without 
having  given  you  any  enlightenment  upon  the  question 
that  has  brought  us  together,  I  may  perhaps  humbly 
inquire  of  my  fellow  members  of  the  Ethological  Society 
whether  the  science  of  human  character  may  not  be 
likened  to  the  science  of  irregular  verbs? 

Consider  what  it  means,  adequately  and  scientifically 
to  sum  up  any  one  individual  character,  and  represent  a 
clear  image  of  it  to  yourself  Begin  upon  your  own 
character.  Have  you  ever  tried  to  render  a  definite 
concise  account  of  it  to  yourself?  Dare  you  try  to  sum 
it  up?  Start  the  inquiry  upon  the  character  of  the 
person  you  know  best  (or  think  you  know  best) ;  then 
try  it  upon  your  intimate  friends,  and  lastly,  upon  any 
of  your  casual  acquaintances.  I  shall  have  gained 
my  point  if  I  have  made  you  feel  that  the  science  of 
human  character  is  enormously  difficult ;  that  its  data 
are  so  diffuse,  concrete,  and  irreconcilable  as  to  make  it 
almost  impossible  to  classify  them.  And  1  am  speaking 
here  of  isolated  human  character,  of  human  character 
in  a  vacuum,  and  without  the  impediment  of  the 
thousand  interfering  conditions  that  govern  it  when  it 
is  transplanted  to  a  work  of  art. 

Consider  how  difficult   it   must   be   scientifically  to 


DELINEATION  OF  CHARACTER  IN  DRAMA    185 

sum  up,  and  scientifically  to  represent  a  human  character 
in  a  work  of  art.  There  are  certain  memorable  delinea- 
tions of  character  both  in  fiction  and  in  drama,  which, 
whether  they  are  scientifically  true  or  not,  do  give  us 
the  impression  of  being  actually  live  human  beings. 
Many  of  these  will  at  once  recur  to  your  memory.  I 
have  not  time  to  attempt  the  analysis  of  any  of  the  great 
characters  in  fiction.  I  will  simply  mention  one  example 
of  a  human  character,  finely  and  faithfully  observed, 
exhaustively  portrayed,  and  so  far  scientifically  right 
as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  cavil — I  will  mention 
Flaubert's  marvellous  study  of  Madame  Bovary. 

But  in  the  exact  and  exhaustive  presentation  of 
character,  the  novelist  has  an  enormous  advantage  over 
the  dramatist.  To  begin  with,  he  has  infinitely  more 
space  for  characteristic  detail.  Then  again,  he  is  not 
subject  to  the  dramatist's  limitations  in  the  matter  of 
the  change  of  scene.  In  the  course  of  a  single  chapter 
he  can  skip  through  a  dozen  different  scenes.  Further 
and  chiefly  (and  this  is  both  a  great  advantage  and  a 
great  disadvantage)  the  novelist  has  the  opportunity  of 
direct  narrative,  direct  description.  It  is  here  that  the 
novelist's  task  is  made  transcendently  easy  compared 
with  the  task  of  the  dramatist.  The  result  of  the 
novelist  wielding  this  power  of  direct  narrative,  direct 
description,  is  that  when  you  compare  the  number  of 
life-like  characters  that  you  meet  in  fiction  with  the 
number  of  corresponding  characters  that  you  meet 
in  drama,  you  will  find  that  fiction  can  be  credited  with 
hundreds  of  them,  while  the  drama  can  claim  only  a 
comparatively  small  number. 

Here  again  I  ask  you  to  weigh  the  enormous  diffi- 
culties a  dramatist  meets  the  moment  he  stands  up,  fair 
and  square,  to  delineate  a  character,  and  to  challenge  a 
comparison  with  his  giant  exemplar  and  antagonist — 
Nature.  First  of  all.  Nature  has  from  thirty  to  seventy 
years  in  which  to  portray  every  detail  of  a  human 
character ;  the  dramatist  has  from  ten  minutes  to  half 


i86    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

an  hour.  Now  owing  to  this  enormous  difference 
between  the  size  of  Nature's  canvas  and  the  canvas  of 
the  dramatist,  how  little  can  any  of  the  actions  and 
words  of  the  dramatist's  character  in  any  given  scene 
and  place,  be  realistically  and  exactly  like  the  words 
and  actions  of  the  same  character,  painted  by  Nature, 
with  her  infinite  scope,  her  infinite  carelessness  as  to 
consistency,  as  to  design,  as  to  what  we  regard  as  moral 
or  immoral  purpose. 

If  we  could,  in  one  swift  glance,  sweep  across  the 
seventy  years  of  most  men's  lives,  so  as  instantly  to  con- 
jure up  their  entire  characters  before  us  in  all  their 
details,  I  suppose  the  one  prevailing  impression  would 
be  one  of  purposeless  inconsistency,  drifting  and  futility. 
Apart  from  the  very  few  lives  that  seem  to  have  started 
with  a  clear  purpose,  and  after  infinite  dodging  and 
tacking  to  have  accomplished  it— apart  from  these 
chosen  few,  surely  the  distinctive  sign  and  hall  mark  of 
human  character,  is  careless  inconsistency,  indecision, 
and  absence  of  aim,  except  that  of  providing  for  the 
gross  necessities  of  life,  and  some  tawdry  pleasures. 

Now  our  Chairman  will  tell  you  that  a  conflict 
between  human  wills,  between  characters  that  start 
with  clearly  conceived  and  opposing  purposes,  is  the 
very  essence  of  drama.  A  wavering,  undecided  cha- 
racter is  of  all  characters  the  most  irritating  in  drama 
— as  it  is  in  real  life.  It  is  an  enormous  tribute  to 
Shakespeare,  that  it  is  only  he  who  has  been  able  to 
make  wavering  and  drifting  characters,  such  as  Hamlet 
and  Richard  the  Second,  supremely  interesting  as  pro- 
tagonists of  drama.  From  this  enormous  diff'erence  in 
the  conditions  which  bind  the  dramatist  as  compared 
with  Nature — from  this  arises  the  fact  that  while  Nature 
mainly  shows  human  beings  as  mere  disjointed  bundles 
of  inconsistencies,  the  dramatist  has  mainly  to  show 
them  as  concise,  homogeneous,  purposeful,  direct,  and 
moving  towards  a  self-conscious  end.  We  may  say 
indeed,    "  Inconsistency   of   character   is   what   Nature 


DELINEATION  OF  CHARACTER  IN  DRAMA    187 

mainly  shows  of  human  beings.  Consistency  of 
character  is  what  is  demanded  of  the  dramatist  when 
he  tries  to  show  them." 

Again,  every  one  of  the  dramatist's  characters  has  to 
be  delineated  in  a  sharply-outlined  scheme  of  action ; 
and  has  to  be  strictly  subordinated,  or  rather  recon- 
ciled, to  the  contingencies  and  necessities  of  that 
scheme  of  action. 

Here  I  dare  to  whisper  a  word  of  the  most  friendly 
suggestion  to  two  or  three  brilliant  members  of  my  own 
craft,  with  whom  I  am  in  the  greatest  sympathy  in  their 
efforts  to  bring  what  they  call  "ideas"  into  the  modern 
English  drama.  I  venture  with  due  humility  to  affirm 
that  a  play  to  be  permanently  successful,  to  have  a 
secure  hold  upon  any  theatre-going  public  that  is,  or 
ever  will  be,  in  existence — that  a  play  to  be  so  far 
successful,  must  be  a  definite,  connected  series  of 
doings,  and  not  an  indefinite,  unconnected  series  of  say- 
ings. Pour  as  many  ideas  as  you  please  into  your  play 
— open  your  treasures  of  philosophy,  ram  your  moral 
purpose  down  the  throats  of  the  public ;  but  do  all  this 
implicitly,  and  as  it  were  unconsciously,  behind  a  care- 
fully planned  scheme  of  action.  If  you  cannot  do  this, 
put  your  ideas  and  your  philosophy  into  a  pamphlet. 
They  will  have  a  longer  and  firmer  hold  upon  the  public, 
and  you  will  achieve  your  purpose  more  surely  and 
effectively  than  if  you  put  them  into  a  formless  inverte- 
brate play.  Take  notice,  however,  that  your  purpose  is 
not  an  artistic,  but  a  controversial  one.  So  please  be 
careful  not  to  call  yourself  an  artist. 

I  hope  my  present  audience,  and  my  brother  play- 
wrights, will  pardon  me  this  little  digression.  Let  us 
return  to  the  necessity  that  is  laid  upon  the  dramatist, 
always  to  convey  character  in,  and  by  means  of,  a  scheme 
of  action ;  and  generally  by  the  action  of  the  character 
himself. 

How  is  character  finally  expressed  in  real  life  ? 
Inevitably  by  the  man's  actions.     How  is  character  to 


i88     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

be  finally  expressed  in  drama?  Inevitably  by  the  man's 
actions.  There  is  in  real  life,  a  great  and  eternal  contrast 
between  men's  words  and  men's  deeds.  To  win  your 
assent  to  this  statement,  I  need  only  invite  you  carefully 
to  compare  your  own  words  with  your  own  deeds. 
What  any  particular  person  says  on  the  stage  or  in  real 
life,  is  often  a  very  uncertain  index  or  revelation  of 
character,  as  compared  with  what  he  does.  Joe  Gargery 
in  "  Great  Expectations,"  you  will  remember,  formed  a 
somewhat  exaggerated  estimate  of  the  worthiness  of  his 
father's  character.  His  epitaph  on  Mr.  Gargery  senior 
ran  as  follows : 

Whatsomever  were  the  failings  on  'is  part, 
Remember,  reader,  he  were  ever  that  good  in  'is  'eart. 

But  the  only  fragment  of  Mr.  Gargery's  history  that  we 
have  been  able  to  discover,  sets  forth  the  fact  that  he 
used  to  get  drunk  and  turn  his  wife  and  children  out  of 
doors  on  snowy  nights.  And  when  we  compare  it  with 
the  epitaph,  we  immediately  judge  the  character  of  Mr. 
Gargery  senior  from  his  actions,  and  register  a  distrust 
of  pious  biographies. 

The  inability  of  a  dramatist  to  bring  the  actions  of 
his  character  into  agreement  with  his  conception  of  that 
character,  was  amusingly  illustrated  in  a  melodrama  I 
saw  many  years  ago.  The  scene  was  laid  in  Cairo,  at 
the  time  of  Arabi  Pasha's  rising  in  Egypt.  The  English 
Colony  was  besieged  in  Cairo  and  were  in  great  peril. 
From  outside  the  walls,  came  the  angry  and  menacing 
shouts  of  Arabi's  followers  for  the  lives  of  the  besieged 
English  residents.  Inside,  an  English  Banker  determined 
to  show  his  courage,  and  to  go  upon  the  walls  and 
address  the  turbulent  mob  outside.  His  wife  and  friends 
begged  him  to  stay  where  he  was.  "  No,  I  will  go  and 
speak  to  them  and  quell  them."  "  For  heaven's  sake, 
don't,"  his  friends  beseeched.  He  however  mounted  the 
ladder  and  showed  himself  above  the  walls.  A  pistol 
shot  instantly  followed,  and  he  fell  dead  before  he  could 


DELINEATION  OF  CHARACTER  IN  DRAMA    189 

speak  a  word.  The  audience  roared  with  laughter. 
What  the  dramatist  intended  to  show  was  the  desperate 
character  of  the  besiegers  outside,  and  the  intrepid 
character  of  the  English  Banker.  What  the  dramatist 
did  really  show,  was  that  the  banker  was  a  great  fool  to 
go  and  get  shot,  when  all  his  friends  had  persuaded 
him  to  stay  in  safety  where  he  was. 

Character,  I  affirm,  should  always  be  strictly  related 
to  the  scheme  of  action  of  the  play.     I  do  not  claim  that 
the  neat  and  cunning  construction  of  a  plot,  is  a  higher 
achievement  than  the  faithful  presentation  of  a  human 
character.     Indeed,  in  any  art,  the  portrayal  of  a  human 
character  is  the  highest  achievement  of  which  any  artist 
is  capable.     But  I  do  say  that  the  plot,  the  scheme  of 
action,  will  in  most  instances  inevitably  direct  and  shape 
the  dramatist's  presentation  of  a  character,  whatever  his 
conception  of  that  character  may  be.     The  nature  of  the 
relation  of  plot  to  character  is  well  shown  by  comparing 
the    character    of  Antony   in  Julius   Caesar   with    the 
character  of  Antony  in  Antony  and  Cleopatra.    Shake- 
speare   may  be    said   to    have    drawn  entirely  distinct 
Antonys  in  the  two  plays.    The  real  Antony  may  indeed 
have  done  and  said  all  that  the  dramatist  has  ascribed 
to  him  in  both  plays.     But  the  scheme  of  action  in  the 
respective    plays,   compels    the    dramatist    to   present 
wholly  different  sides  of  Antony's  character ;  so  much 
so,  that  the  two  Antonys  might  well  be  different  men. 
From  this  we  may  gather  that  when  the  character  does 
not  run  on  all  fours  with  the  plot,  the  plot  will  neces- 
sarily govern,  and  may  wholly  distort  the  dramatist's  con- 
ception of  the  character.     Here  I  venture  to  say  (with 
all  due  deference  to  our  Chairman)  we  have  a  confirma- 
tion   of   Aristotle's    rule   that    "The   plot   is   the   first 
thing  in  a  play."    I  do  not  say  the  plot  is  the  chief  thing. 
But  it  is  the  first  thing.      You  cannot   build  a   house 
unless  you  first  get  your  elevation  right.     I  hope  I  am 
beginning   to   show  you  the  enormous  difficulties  the 
dramatist   encounters   when   he   tries   to   put  before  a 


I90    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

modern  audience  anything  like  a  scientific   delineation 
of  character. 

Let  me  bring  before  you  some  further  facts  and 
considerations  that  will  perhaps  increase  your  appre- 
ciation of  our  difficulties.  Most  of  us  are  acquainted 
with  the  apparently  inexplicable  tricks  and  caprices 
sometimes  indulged  in  by  this  nervous  apparatus  of 
ours.  I  have  said  that  we  are  all  connoisseurs  of  human 
character.  Doubtless  most  of  us  who  have  knocked 
about  the  world  are  rough,  and  at  times  shrewd  and 
penetrating,  judges  of  the  characters  that  we  meet.  I 
think  that  women  have  more  instant  penetration  into 
character  than  men,  or  shall  we  say,  they  have  a  swifter 
instinct  for  it  ? 

But  there  are  facts  which  seem  to  baffle  the  most 
learned  of  us.  I  suppose  most  of  us  mainly  judge  a 
character  by  its  one  or  two  most  dominant  and  sig- 
nificant notes.  Thus,  we  think  of  one  man  as  prudent, 
another  as  courageous,  another  as  ambitious,  another  as 
crafty,  another  as  a  kind  father,  another  as  a  keen 
business  man.  But  what  are  we  to  say  when  we  find 
that  a  man  who  has  been  a  prudent,  careful  householder 
and  taxpayer  all  his  life,  meets  with  a  shock  or  injury  ; 
and  becomes,  not  a  damaged  and  battered  image  of  his 
former  self,  but  something  exactly  the  opposite?  Thus 
an  equable,  temperate  man  becomes  a  savage  drunkard ; 
a  modest,  dignified  man  becomes  a  bragging,  babbling 
fool.  The  nervous  apparatus  works,  or  seems  to 
work,  not  merely  in  a  subdued  and  lowered  way,  but 
apparently  in  a  clean  contrary  direction ;  as  though  all 
the  forces  that  went  to  build  up  character  had  been 
reversed.  It  is  an  alarming  thought  that  good  reputable 
citizens  like  ourselves,  who  have  built  up  our  characters 
with  so  much  effort  and  care  and  forethought,  may 
suddenly  find  ourselves  not  with  reduced  and  im- 
poverished assets  in  the  virtues  we  have  so  sedulously 
cultivated,  but  in  possession  of  vast  stores  of  their 
opposite    and    contrary    vices?      How   can   we   attach 


DELINEATION  OF  CHARACTER  IN  DRAMA    191 

responsibility  when  the  most  virtuous  character  is  seen 
to  be  at  the  mercy  of  the  merest  accident?  May  not 
the  man  who  has  always  displayed  vicious  qualities, 
ascribe  them  likewise  to  an  accident,  the  accident  of  his 
possession  of  a  faulty  brain  structure  at  birth  ? 

Here  we  seem  to  be  brought  to  an  emphatic  disproof 
of  free  will.  But  instinctively  the  Western  European 
mind  revolts  from  fatalism,  however  plainly  it  may  seem 
to  be  indicated  by  the  facts  of  brain  structure  and  brain 
action.  Instinctively  we  feel  that  the  surrender  of  his 
free  will  and  responsibility,  is  the  greatest  humiliation 
that  any  human  being  can  submit  to — the  most  ignoble 
misfortune  that  can  befall  him. 

"  That  man  I  count  as  lost 
Whose  mind  allows  a  plan 
That  would  degrade  it  most." 

And  Western  Christendom  has  shown  itself  ready  to 
buy  free  will  at  the  cost  of  eternal  suffering.  Without 
the  implicit  acceptance  of  free  will,  human  character 
becomes  no  more  than  a  pebble  in  a  sand-drift — "  rolled 
round  in  earth's  diurnal  course,  with  rocks  and  stones 
and  trees."  Without  the  assumption  of  free  will,  you 
can  have  no  drama. 

Let  us  leave  the  puzzle  of  free  will,  and  take  up 
another  puzzle  of  character;  the  strange  and  bewildering 
fact  of  multiple  personality.  We  find  that  certain  men 
and  women  (more  women  than  men)  manifest  wholly 
different  personalities  and  characters  during  certain 
divided  portions  of  their  lives.  Instances  of  double 
personality  are,  I  daresay,  familiar  to  you  all ;  where 
a  certain  person  leads  two  wholly  separate  lives,  mani- 
festing in  each  of  them  wholly  different  dispositions; 
being  wholly  oblivious  in  the  one  state  of  everything 
that  happens  in  the  alternate  state.  Occasionally,  a 
human  nervous  apparatus  will  run  amuck,  and  work  so 
capriciously  as  to  split  the  life  of  its  possessor  into  as 
many  as  ten  different  compartments  of  consciousness ; 


192    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

each  distinct  from  the  other;  each  indicating  a  totally 
distinct  character,  at  variance  from  all  the  other 
characters,  but  consistent  with  itself;  each  different 
state  of  consciousness  declaring  itself  in  actions,  moods, 
gestures,  memories,  and  mental  capacities  appropriate 
to  and  possessed  by  itself  alone,  and  unrelated  to  the 
other  states  ? 

What  shall  we  say  about  Mary  Barnes  ?  (I  quote 
from  Dr.  Albert  Wilson's  "  Education,  Personality,  and 
Crime.") 

Mary  Barnes  exhibited  "  ten  phases  of  sub- 
personality,  each  of  which  was  a  distinct  and  separate 
life.  No  one  personality  knew  anything  of  the  others, 
nor  yet  of  the  normal  life.  .  .  .  These  sub-personalities 
differed  completely  in  character.  .  .  .  Bi  was  a  condition 
of  mania  or  excitement.  .  .  .  As  B2  she  was  quite 
ignorant,  requiring  to  be  completely  re-educated.  .  .  . 
B3  was  a  mischievous  romping  girl.  In  this  condition 
she  was  taken  to  the  seaside,  and  though  in  her  normal 
state  she  knew  the  sea,  yet  now  as  B3  she  beheld  it  for 
the  first  time.  When  she  revisited  the  same  place  the 
next  year,  in  a  different  personality  as  B6,  it  was  again 
to  her  as  a  new  sight.  She  learned  to  swim  in  one 
personality,  B3,  but  later  could  not  swim  in  the  B6. 
condition.  In  another  phase,  B9,  she  was  blind,  and 
developed  a  new  faculty,  perhaps  a  legacy  from  some 
remote  ancestor.  This  was  the  power  to  draw ;  drawing 
entirely  by  touch,  even  to  the  detecting  of  colour.  B9 
was  imbecile.  This  case  of  Mary  Barnes  is  of  value  to 
our  present  subject  because  one  state,  Bio,  was  of 
criminal  appearance.  As  A,  or  normal,  she  was  a  girl 
of  the  very  highest  morale,  and  the  simplest  wrong-doing 
was  an  absolute  horror  to  her.  Yet  as  Bio  she  was  a 
thief,  and  only  by  chance  saved  from  murder.  The 
theft  was  a  very  ordinary  one,  from  a  shop  door.  On 
seeing  a  policeman  she  ran  back,  replaced  the  article, 
but  justified  the  theft  on  the  same  lines  of  thought 
as    a    criminal    would.      'If    you    want    a  thing    and 


DELINEATION  OF  CHARACTER  IN  DRAMA    193 

can't  get  it,  why  nick  it.     No  harm  if  you  are  not  found 
out.' " 

Certainly  no  dramatist  would  dare  to  play  the 
mischievous  pranks  with  human  character  that  Nature 
does. 

But  you  say  these  eccentricities  of  character  are 
abnormalities,  closely  allied  to  mental  disease.  That 
is  true ;  but  it  is  only  by  the  careful  study  and  explora- 
tion of  disease  that  we  learn  the  laws  of  health.  What 
has  the  recital  of  these  strange  cases  of  aberration  of 
character  to  do  with  the  delineation  of  character  in 
drama? 

Is  not  every  character,  even  every  ordinary  healthy 
character,  to  a  great  extent  a  multiple  character,  a 
multiple  personality?  It  does  not  indeed,  except  occa- 
sionally in  dreams  and  fevers,  split  into  differing  and 
contradictory  and  unrelated  states  of  consciousness. 
But  none  the  less,  is  it  not  a  multiple  character  ?  Are 
we  not  all,  like  the  Prophet  Habakkuk,  "capable  de 
tout,"  by  the  fact  that  the  nervous  apparatus  of  each 
one  of  us,  is  comprehensive  and  representative  more  or 
less  of  all  humanity?  Have  we  not  all  infinitely  com- 
plex characters,  ready  under  due  provocation  to  work 
in  the  most  irregular,  capricious,  and  unexpected  ways  ? 
I  leave  this  suggestion  to  you,  with  the  entreaty  that  if 
at  any  time  you  should  find  a  character  of  mine  behav- 
ing in  some  extraordinarily  capricious  way,  you  will 
generously  ascribe  it  to  my  attempt  scientifically  to 
follow  Nature  in  her  more  secret  processes ;  and  that 
you  will  not  rashly  put  it  down  to  faulty  perception  or 
execution  of  character  on  my  part. 

I  come  back  to  firm  ground  by  saying  that  every 
man's  character  is  largely  composed  of  qualities,  feelings, 
passions,  thoughts  which  he  possesses  in  common  with 
all  his  fellow  human  creatures.  It  is  generally  by 
likenesses  in  any  character  to  ourselves ;  by  the  ex- 
hibition of  ways  of  speaking,  feeling  and  acting,  that 
are  most  like  our  own  ways  of  speaking,  feeling  and 

o 


194     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

acting,  that  we  judge  of  the  truthfulness  of  a  character 
in  fiction  or  drama.  The  old  dramatists  used  to  label 
their  characters  by  a  single  quality,  or  by  their  trade  or 
profession.  There  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  for  this 
way  of  naming  characters  in  drama.  It  by  no  means 
shuts  out  the  opportunity  of  quite  faithful  and  truthful 
character-drawing.  When  a  dramatist  calls  his  character 
"  Sir  John  Brute,"  we  do  not  puzzle  as  to  what  deep-sea 
curiosity  he  has  fished  up  from  the  abysm  of  human 
nature.  We  know  exactly  the  sort  of  man  we  are  going 
to  meet.  The  fact  that  he  has  thus  labelled  his  character 
with  one  quality  will  not  prevent  him  from  giving  us  a 
real  living  human  being,  if  he  has  faithfully  observed  or 
conceived  that  human  being.  One  is  glad  to  see  that 
this  habit  of  labelling  a  character  by  its  leading  note 
or  profession  is  not  extinct  amongst  us.  In  Oscar 
Wilde's  brilliant  farce.  The  Importance  of  Being  Earnest, 
a  certain  type  of  clergyman  is  called  "  Dr.  Chasuble." 

And  where  will  you  find  truer,  more  satisfying,  more 
complete  and  more  dramatic  exhibitions  of  human 
character  than  in  Bunyan's  "  Pilgrim's  Progress "  ? 
Almost  every  one  of  Bunyan's  characters  is  labelled 
with  a  certain  quality  or  habit.  He  may  be  before  us 
for  only  half  a  dozen  minutes  and  speak  only  half  a 
dozen  sentences,  but  we  feel  at  once  that  Bunyan  has 
created  a  veritable  human  being,  and  has  told  us  every- 
thing about  him.  We  know  Bunyan's  characters  as 
thoroughly  as  we  should  have  known  them  if  we  had 
met  them  in  real  life.  Again,  take  "Falstaff"  in 
Henry  IV.  Here  is  a  complete  full-length  portrait  of 
a  very  distinctive  human  being.  We  could  not  know 
more  about  Falstaff  if  we  had  been  one  of  his  com- 
panions, probably  not  so  much.  One  feels  that  one 
would  give  the  whole  bundle  of  laboured,  modern, 
pretentious  so-called  psychological  studies  for  a  mere 
limb  of  one  of  Bunyan's  characters,  a  little  finger  of 
Falstaff. 

Again  to   revert   for  one   moment  to   the   multiple 


DELINEATION  OF  CHARACTER  IN  DRAMA    195 

personalities  that  exist  in  all  of  us.  How  they  seem  to 
be  summed  up  in  Hamlet !  Hamlet  is  in  many  ways 
a  wayward,  contradictory  character,  and  yet  what  an 
impression  he  gives  us,  not  indeed  of  a  photograph 
taken  from  real  life,  but  of  a  large  summary,  a  supreme 
reality  of  humanity. 

The  general  advance  of  science  has  led  everywhere 
to  a  demand  for  more  precision,  more  searching  exacti- 
tude. There  is  a  sense  in  which  science  and  art  are 
opposed  to  each  other.  There  is  a  sense  in  which 
science  and  art  are  different  aspects  of  the  same 
thing. 

We  find  on  the  modern  stage  a  demand  for  minute  and 
exact  photographs  of  our  contemporaries.  We  are  less 
concerned  with  types,  more  concerned  with  individuals. 
If  the  modern  dramatist  is  to  be  called  upon  to  give 
realistic  and  scientific  delineations  of  character,  he  is 
surely  entitled  to  ask  for  their  precise  duplicates  in 
real  life  to  play  them.  For  instance,  suppose  a  modern 
dramatist  had  put  into  his  play  a  study  of  feminine 
character — say  Madame  Bovary.  It  could  not  of  course 
be  done  by  the  methods  of  Flaubert,  by  the  patient 
accumulation  of  endless  details.  The  dramatist  might 
know  his  Madame  Bovary  as  thoroughly  and  searchingly 
as  Flaubert  did.  He  could  not  draw  her  in  the  same 
way.  To  begin  with,  many  of  the  exact  touches  given 
by  Flaubert  would  have  to  be  left  to  the  personality, 
voice,  features,  gestures,  and  idiosyncrasies  of  the 
actress.  And  these  individual  marks  of  character  in 
any  given  actress  might  be  totally  different  from  those 
the  dramatist  had  imagined.  Indeed  the  dmmatist's 
Madame  Bovary  might  be  played  with  equal  effect  and 
conviction  by  a  dozen  different  actresses,  all  of  them 
with  distinct,  and  sometimes  with  opposing,  outward 
personalities  and  manners.  So  Hamlet  may  be  played 
v/ith  much  the  same  effect,  and  may  give  much  the  same 
impression  of  character,  by  actors  with  wholly  varying 
or  opposed  personalities.     The  same  is  true  of  Hedda 


196    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

Gabbler,  though  she  seems  to  be  drawn  with  great  pre- 
cision, and  with  a  definite  idea  of  one  definite  personality 
in  her  creator's  mind.  But  she  can  be  clothed  with  equal 
eff'ect  by  the  varying  personalities  of  many  actresses. 
The  fact  is,  if  a  dramatist  has  clearly  conceived  and 
drawn  a  living  character,  it  is  astonishing  what  a 
number  of  varying  actors  with  varying  personalities 
can  play  it  with  equal  eff'ect,  and  to  much  the  same 
result  upon  the  audience.  The  converse  is  true.  If  a 
dramatist  has  drawn  a  character  with  certain  marked 
qualities,  or  peculiarities,  his  creation  may  be  maimed 
or  altogether  destroyed  by  an  actor  with  a  wrong,  or 
deficient,  or  contradictory  personality.  It  matters  com- 
paratively little  what  the  dramatist  has  conceived  or 
drawn,  if  the  personality  and  manner  and  methods  of 
the  actor  are  contradictory  to  the  main  features  of  the 
character.  Here  I  raise  a  large  question,  which  I  have 
only  time  to  glance  at.  We  are  often  helped,  enor- 
mously helped,  by  actors  who  give  form  and  body  to 
characters  that  we  have  perhaps  only  vaguely  and 
uncertainly  sketched.  But  equally  we  are  sometimes 
hindered,  and  defeated,  and  misrepresented  by  the  actor's 
wrong  personality  or  methods.  And  we  have  no  means 
of  redress,  no  means  of  explanation.  If  you  demand 
of  your  dramatists  the  exact  and  scientific  portrayal  of 
modern  English  men  and  women  on  the  stage,  you 
should  place  him  in  a  position  to  command  those  actors 
and  actresses  who  will  give  an  exact  and  scientific 
representation  of  what  he  has  conceived.  But  the 
dramatist  will  always  be  most  permanently  successful 
when  he  deals  with  character  in  its  large,  broad,  uni- 
versal aspects,  rather  than  when  he  deals  with  its 
minute,  temporary,  and  local  peculiarities.  And  these 
larger  aspects  of  character  have  to  be  rendered  in  a 
larger  and  looser,  but  not  necessarily  in  a  less  truthful 
way. 

Broadly  there  are   two  diff'erent  ways   of  painting 
character  in  drama,  as  there  are  two  different  ways  of 


DELINEATION  OF  CHARACTER  IN  DRAMA   197 

painting  a  portrait — the  one  is  minute,  realistic,  in- 
dividual, and  aims  at  scientific  exactness ;  the  other  is 
large,  imaginative,  inexact ;  the  one  is  done  by  the 
methods  of  the  photographer,  the  other  is  done  by  the 
methods  of  the  oil  painter ;  the  one  is  done  chiefly  from 
painstaking  observation  and  cataloguing;  the  other,  so 
far  as  one  can  describe  the  process,  is  imagined  from 
memory.  Of  course  all  great  permanent  characters 
are  done  by  a  combination  of  these  two  methods,  but 
the  delineator  will  lean  to  one  or  the  other  of  them 
according  to  his  temperament,  training,  and  aspirations. 
If  you  ask  me  what  is  the  secret  of  successful  character 
painting  in  drama,  I  am  unable  to  tell  you.  I  suppose 
it  is  something  akin  to  the  secret  of  successful  cooking. 
All  cooks  use  much  the  same  ingredients,  but  they 
turn  out  very  different  dinners.  All  dramatists  deal 
with  the  same  raw  materials  of  human  nature,  but  they 
turn  out  very  different  human  characters.  The  result 
in  each  case  depends  much  upon  the  training,  skill, 
knowledge,  and  inspiration  of  the  cook  or  the  dramatist. 

But  it  depends  more  largely  upon  a  personal  touch, 
a  personal  knack. 

It  is  the  personal  view  of  the  artist,  his  individual 
way  of  looking  at  character  that  gives  its  rarest  value 
to  a  human  portrait. 


XII 

ON   READING   MODERN   PLAYS 

June,  1906. 
In  April,  1891,  soon  after  the  passing  of  the  Anglo- 
American  copyright  law,  I  made  a  strong  appeal  to 
English  and  American  dramatists  to  publish  their  plays, 
and  to  the  playgoing  public  to  read  them.  This  was 
interpreted  in  England  as  a  presumptuous  attempt  on 
the  part  of  a  mere  playwriter  to  "  shove  in  amongst  the 
worthy  bidden  guests  "  of  literature.  I  was  bantered, 
and  admonished  to  pocket  the  royalties  coming  from 
my  plays,  and  therewith  to  be  content.  I  have,  how- 
ever, continued  to  advocate  the  publication  of  plays, 
and  have  had  the  gratification  of  seeing  it  gradually 
become  the  practice  of  English  and  American  drama- 
tists. But  the  results  in  England  have  been  very 
meagre  and  unsatisfactory.  No  modern  English  play, 
however  popular,  or  whatever  renown  it  has  won  upon 
the  boards,  has  met  with  any  marked  consideration 
from  the  great  reading  public,  or  has  captured  a  tenth 
of  the  circulation  of  the  popular  novel.  Much  of  this 
plentiful  lack  of  interest  in  the  printed  play  is  perhaps 
due  to  the  fact  that  it  is  not  generally  published  until 
the  first  run  is  over.  By  that  time  it  is  no  longer  the 
hot  sensation  of  the  hour :  it  has  already  met  with  due 
appreciation  in  the  theatre  :  it  has  been  discussed  at 
dinner  tables,  and  in  the  press :  it  has  spent  its  im- 
mediate influence  on  the  mind  of  the  public. 

Many  managers  and  actors  dislike  that  the  plays  in 
which  they  are  currently  appearing  shall  be  put  into 
the  hands  of  the  public.     So  far  as  the  success  of  the 


ON    READING  MODERN   PLAYS  199 

play  depends  upon  some  sensational  situation  or  surprise, 
this  prejudice  on  the  part  of  the  manager  is  natural,  and, 
to  some  extent,  justifiable.  But  some  leading  actors 
have  also  a  feeling  that  the  publication  of  a  play  may 
endanger  their  position  and  popularity  with  the  public 
— that  enormous,  theatre-going  public,  who,  in  England 
and  America,  have  scarcely  begun  to  suspect  the  exist- 
ence of  the  author:  scarcely  begun  to  suspect  that  there 
may  be  an  art  of  the  drama,  as  well  as  an  art  of  play- 
acting :  scarcely  begun  to  suspect  that  the  play  may 
have  an  existence,  a  vitality  and  an  import  of  its  own, 
apart  from  providing  a  momentary  entertainment  for 
the  playgoer,  and  a  vehicle  for  the  star  actor. 

Now  I  think  it  would  be  well  if  managers  and  leading 
actors  could  be  reasoned  out  of  this  prejudice  against 
the  immediate  publication  of  plays.  Surely  in  France 
the  art  of  acting,  as  well  as  the  art  of  the  drama,  stands 
upon  an  immeasurably  higher  level  than  in  England ; 
and  this  is  partly  due  to  the  differentiation  in  the  public 
mind  of  the  art  of  the  drama  from  the  art  of  acting. 
Each  is  judged  in  its  relation  to  the  other,  and  each 
is  also  judged  on  its  own  merits,  instead  of  being 
carelessly  muddled  with  the  other.  The  printing  of 
plays  tends  to  secure  that  the  actor  and  the  author 
shall  each  receive  his  rightful  guerdon.  And  in  weigh- 
ing the  advantages  and  disadvantages  which  would 
accrue  to  the  actor  were  every  play  to  be  published 
simultaneously  with  its  production,  he  may  be  asked 
to  reflect  that  the  printing  and  reading  of  plays  tends 
to  raise  the  intellectual  level  of  the  drama,  and  with  it 
the  intellectual  quality  of  the  acting,  and  the  intellectual 
status  of  the  actor.  No  actor  who  respects  and  loves 
his  art,  no  actor  who  desires  to  see  it  established  in  the 
national  esteem  on  the  only  right  and  safe  grounds,  can 
consistently  object  to  the  publication  of  a  play  on  the 
eve,  or  on  the  morrow  of  its  production. 

That  such  a  course  would  not  lower  the  dignity  or 
deserved  popularity  of  the  actor  is  proved,  as  I  have 


200    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

said,  by  the  example  of  France,  where  great,  all-round 
acting  is  common  in  all  her  large  cities  :  where  acting 
is  judged  and  honoured  as  the  intellectual  exponent  and 
companion  of  an  intellectual  drama,  which  playgoers 
read  as  well  as  witness,  and  which  they  discuss  and 
judge  as  literature.  When  this  point  of  view  is  seized 
by  actors,  I  hope  they  will  not  be  found  averse  to  the 
publication  of  current  plays.  On  talking  over  the  matter 
with  a  leading  American  actor,  I  was  delighted  to  find 
him  at  one  with  me  in  desiring  that  the  immediate 
publication  and  circulation  of  plays  may  become  an 
established  custom  amongst  us.  If  such  a  custom  were 
general  in  America  and  England,  it  would  tend  to  increase 
the  popularity  and  influence  of  the  acted  drama  with 
that  large  section  of  the  educated  and  cultivated  public 
who  now  stand  aloof  from  the  theatre.  And  to  engage 
the  active  sympathy  of  this  class,  I  hold  to  be  most 
desirable  on  every  account.  A  widely  spread  interest 
in  the  printed  drama  is  at  once  the  means  and  the  sign, 
the  cause  and  the  effect,  of  a  general  betterment  of  the 
theatre,  and  incidentally,  of  the  art  of  acting.  The  absence 
of  any  interest  in  the  printed  drama  is  to-day,  and  in 
our  civilization,  the  mark  of  a  sunken  public  taste,  and 
of  a  national  drama  that  does  not  pretend  or  care  to  be 
anything  essentially  different  from  a  child's  toyshop. 

In  England,  after  fifteen  years,  we  are  left  with  little 
encouragement.  Playgoers  who  lavish  time  and  money 
to  see  plays  will  scarcely  spend  sixpence  to  read  and 
examine  the  stuff  that  has  absorbed  all  their  many 
million  golden  hours  of  leisure,  and  all  their  many 
million  golden  sovereigns. 

But  on  my  visit  to  America  last  autumn,  I  had  the 
great  satisfaction  of  learning  from  a  leading  New  York 
publisher  that  a  steady  demand  is  springing  up  for  new 
editions  of  modern  plays.  This  demand  has  arisen 
indirectly  from  the  courageous  and  far-seeing  action 
of  Professor  Baker  at  Harvard,  and  Professor  Phelps 
at  Yale,  who,  for  some  years,  have  passed  their  students 


ON   READING  MODERN   PLAYS  201 

through  a  course  of  lectures  and  examinations  in  con- 
temporary plays,  A  steadily  increasing  impulse  has 
thus  been  given  to  the  study  of  the  modern  drama  as  a 
branch  of  literature  in  all  the  colleges  and  schools  of 
America.  But  apart  from  [this  growing  interest  in 
educational  circles  and  centres,  or  perhaps  partly 
because  of  it,  another  and  wider  interest  has  been 
fitfully  awakened.  That  benevolent,  woolly-brained 
person  who  carries  the  purse,  the  "general  reader," 
has  been  stirred  to  take  some  little  notice  of  the  modern 
printed  drama,  as  a  possibly  agreeable  means  of  beguil- 
ing his  vacant  hours.  To  the  general  casual  reader, 
who  cannot  take  a  railway  journey  without  spending 
a  shilling  or  two  upon  some  magazine  or  novel  which 
he  immediately  rates  at  its  true  value  by  throwing  it 
away  as  he  gets  out  of  the  train — to  him,  with  an  eye 
to  all  his  numerous  progeny  and  kin,  I  beg  to  offer  the 
following  inducements  to  waste  his  money  upon  modern 
plays  rather  than  upon  modern  novels  : — 

(i)  A  modern  play  cannot  be  more  foolish  and  banal, 
more  destructive  of  whatever  literary  taste  the  general 
reader  may  possess,  or  more  debilitating  to  his  mind 
than  the  average  novel  wherewith  he  is  wont  to  enfeeble 
his  brain. 

(2)  Any  modern  play  which  has  obtained  sufficient 
success  upon  the  boards  to  be  printed,  will  probably 
contain  elements  of  popular  amusement  and  interest 
which  will  be  exactly  to  the  general  reader's  liking. 

(3)  Playreading  is  rather  difficult  at  first,  and  so  far 
will  provide  the  general  reader  with  a  new  mental 
exercise.  But  after  the  first  few  attempts,  when  once 
its  shorthand  is  mastered,  playreading  becomes  easy 
and  stimulating,  and  will  therefore  provide  the  general 
reader  with  a  new  mental  pleasure. 

(4)  A  new  modern  play  can  be  bought  at  less  than 
half  the  price  of  a  new  modern  novel. 

(5)  By  buying  plays,  the  general  reader  will 
incidentally   encourage    the    fine    arts   of   acting    and 


202    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

the  drama,  and  so   far  advance  the  civilization   of  his 
country. 

(6)  Chief  of  all  reasons,  a  complete  play  can  be 
read  in  about  one-fifth  of  the  time  that  is  consumed  in 
reading  a  novel  of  average  length. 

This  must  needs  be  a  powerful  argument  in  countries 
like  England  and  America  where  "time"  is  said  to  be 
"  money  " — with  such  strange  results.  For  my  proposal 
is  thus  seen  to  be  neither  more  nor  less  than  an  endow- 
ment of  the  general  reader  with  perpetual  floods  of 
leisure — a  charter  of  ransom  to  him  from  the  exhausting 
slavery  of  the  free  library  of  fiction.  As  it  were  with 
a  stroke  of  the  pen,  with  the  easy  magnificence  of  a 
millionaire  signing  away  deeds  of  gift  to  every  parish 
in  America  and  England,  I  instantly  restore  to  our 
teeming  millions  of  readers  four-fifths  of  the  sweet 
passing  scanty  hours  they  were  about  to  squander  so 
carelessly  :  setting  them  free  to  regain  their  self-respect ; 
or  to  back  horses ;  or  to  twiddle  their  thumbs ;  or  to 
discuss  the  nature  and  purposes  of  the  Immortal  Gods, 
whether  of  Greece  or  of  England.  This  last  is  a  suitable 
pastime  for  vacant  minds. 

But  if  my  endowment  of  the  general  reader  with  this 
vast  stretch  of  leisure  gives  me  any  claim  to  the  dis- 
posal of  it,  I  would  suggest  to  him  that  in  all  fairness 
one-half  of  it  should  be  given  to  reading  more  plays;  and 
the  other  half  to  the  most  deep  and  earnest  considera- 
tion of  what  he  shall  read  further.  Surely  this  latter 
occupation  would  be  a  wise  and  profitable  one  for  the 
general  reader  in  America  and  England. 

The  publication  of  plays  affords  a  test  of  the  reputa- 
tion of  the  dramatist,  but  in  our  society  it  may  perhaps 
be  more  usefully  employed  as  a  lever  to  the  taste  of 
the  playgoer.  Our  transitional  civilization  moves  and 
changes  its  aspects  so  swiftly ;  so  swiftly  leaps  from 
one  scientific  discovery  to  another;  so  restlessly  shifts 
our  habits,  our  modes  of  thought,  our  social  and  moral 
estimates  ;   so  constantly  do  we  undergo  all   kinds   of 


ON   READING   MODERN   PLAYS  203 

outward  and  visible,  if  not  of  inward  and  spiritual, 
transformation,  that  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  our 
modern  plays,  with  their  apparatus  of  minute  realistic 
effects,  will  have  any  interest,  or  influence,  or  verisimili- 
tude, or  significance  in  the  approaching  generations. 
Who  can  build  amongst  all  these  swirling  eddies,  this 
floating  wreckage  of  creeds  and  systems  ? 

Let  us  rest  in  great  peace  about  posterity  and  our 
reputations. 

It  is  not  then  merely  as  the  measure  of  the  dramatist's 
reputation  that  it  is  desirable  to  cultivate  a  habit  of 
reading  plays  amongst  playgoers — though  I  believe  that 
a  thorough  examination  of  those  modern  plays  which 
have  been  most  popular  and  most  highly  praised  would 
establish  a  strangely  altered  estimate  of  their  relative 
intellectual  values.  But  we  may  trust  Time  disdainfully 
to  settle  these  values  before  smiling  us  away  into 
oblivion — us  and  all  our  pretensions. 

Mr.  Brander  Matthews  has  very  truly  said  that  many 
of  the  plays  which  thrill  and  interest  us  in  the  theatre 
will  not  bear  a  moment's  examination  in  print.  What 
does  this  signify  ?  He  justly  instances  The  Two 
Orphans  as  a  play  of  great  merit  in  plot  and  con- 
struction, but  quite  worthless  as  literature.  Suppose 
we  had  been  forced  to  make  a  diligent  and  exhaustive 
study  of  The  Two  Orphans  in  print  (may  God 
appoint  us  some  other  penance)  before  seeing  it  for 
the  first  time  in  the  theatre,  would  it  then  have  made 
the  same  impression  upon  us  in  the  theatre?  Would 
not  its  essential  theatricality  grin  at  us  all  through  the 
performance,  and  forbid  any  enjoyment  of  it  ? 

Again,  suppose  that  before  reading  the  same  play, 
we  could  gather  to  its  first  performance  an  entire 
audience  of  highly  critical  and  cultivated  persons  on 
the  intellectual  level,  say,  of  Aristotle,  Lessing,  Saint- 
Beuve  and  Matthew  Arnold,  ourselves  being  allowed 
a  small  corner  stool  behind  them.  Should  we  then 
enjoy  it  in  the  theatre,  even  for  the  first  time? 


204    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

Does  not  this  imply  that  our  enjoyment  of  such 
plays  in  the  theatre  depends  wholly  upon  our  being 
swamped  in  the  general  mass  of  uncultivated  play- 
goers, and  thereupon  lending  ourselves  to  be  swayed 
with  them  in  a  good-natured  panic  of  misplaced  en- 
thusiasm ?  Does  it  not  also  imply  that  to  the  extent 
the  judgment  of  the  average  playgoer  is  informed,  and 
enlarged,  and  purified  by  reading  plays,  to  that  extent 
he  will  cease  to  enjoy  in  the  theatre  those  plays  which 
cannot  also  interest  and  satisfy  him  in  the  study? 

It  is,  therefore,  as  a  lever  to  the  public  taste  that  I 
continue  to  urge  the  diligent  publication,  and  searching 
study  of  modern  plays.  Will  not  playgoers  who  con- 
stantly apply  the  test  of  reading  to  those  plays  that 
have  captivated  them  in  the  theatre,  begin  to  ask  them- 
selves, "Are  these  the  things  that  we  praised  and 
applauded?  Were  we  tricked  by  this?  Did  we  melt 
into  tears  over  that?  Was  it  here  we  shook  with 
laughter;  and  there,  'impostors  to  true  fear,'  that  we 
thrilled  and  quivered  with  suspense  and  alarm?  Did 
we  indeed  cloy  ourselves  with  all  this  cheap,  sugary 
sentiment,  like  good  little  children  debauching  their 
queasy,  immature  digestions  with  the  sickly  messes  of 
a  Sunday  school  treat  ?  Were  we  so  thirsty  for  amuse- 
ment that  we  greedily  drank  up  this  green  mantle  from 
a  stagnant  pool  of  idiocy,  these  gilded  puddles  of  inanity 
that  beasts  would  have  coughed  at  ?  Did  we,  the  super- 
visors, grossly  gape  on  at  these  monkey  antics,  and  in 
the  land  of  Shakespeare,  breathlessly  acclaim  them  as 
dramatic  art?  Are  these  the  gibes  and  gambols  and 
songs  that  last  evening  set  the  theatre  in  a  roar,  and 
now  in  the  clear,  bright  daylight  are  seen  to  be  as  empty 
of  merriment  as  Yorick's  skull — and  smell  so  ?     Pah  !  " 

The  moment  the  main  body  of  playgoers  begin  to 
read  and  examine  current  plays,  that  moment  we  shall 
take  one  firm  step  towards  a  national  drama. 


XIII 

AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  ENGLISH  TRANSLATION  BY 
FREDERICK  WHYTE  OF  M.  AUGUSTIN  FILON's  "  THE 
ENGLISH   STAGE,"    PUBLISHED    IN    1 897. 

December,  1896. 
I  HAVE  rarely  had  a  more  welcome  task  than  that  of 
saying  a  few  words  of  introduction  to  the  following 
essays,  and  of  heartily  commending  them  to  the  English 
reading  public.  I  am  not  called  upon,  nor  would  it 
become  me,  to  recriticise  the  criticism  of  the  English 
drama  they  contain,  to  reargue  any  of  the  issues  raised, 
or  to  vent  my  own  opinions  of  the  persons  and  plays 
hereafter  dealt  with.  My  business  is  to  thank  M.  Filon 
for  bringing  us  before  the  notice  of  the  French  public, 
to  speak  of  his  work  as  a  whole  rather  than  to  discuss 
it  in  detail,  and  to  define  his  position  in  relation  to  the 
recent  dramatic  movement  in  our  country. 

But  before  addressing  myself  to  these  main  ends, 
I  may  perhaps  be  allowed  to  call  attention  to  one  or 
two  striking  passages  and  individual  judgments.  The 
picture  in  the  first  chapter  of  the  old  actor's  life  on  cir- 
cuit is  capitally  done.  I  do  not  know  where  else  to  look 
for  so  animated  and  succinct  a  rendering  of  that  phase 
of  past  theatrical  life.  And  the  pilgrimage  to  the  de- 
serted Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  also  left  a  vivid 
impression  on  me,  perhaps  quickened  by  my  own  early 
memories.  In  all  that  relates  to  the  early  Victorian  drama 
M.  Filon  seems  to  me  a  sure  and  penetrating  guide. 
All  lovers  of  the  English  drama,  as  distinguished  from 
that  totally  different  and  often  antagonistic  institution, 
the   English  theatre,  must  be   pleased   to  see  M.   Filon 

205 


206    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

stripping  the  spangles  from  Bulwer  Lytton.  To  this  day 
Lytton  remains  an  idol  of  English  playgoers  and  actors, 
a  lasting  measure  of  their  judgments  both  of  poetry 
and  of  dramatic  truth.  The  Lady  of  Lyons  and  Richelieu 
still  rank  in  many  theatrical  circles  with  Hamlet  as 
masterpieces  of  the  "legitimate,"  and  Money  is  still 
bracketed  with  77?^  School  for  Scandal.  It  is  benevolent 
of  M.  Filon  to  write  dramatic  criticism  about  a  nation 
where  such  estimates  have  prevailed  for  half  a  century. 

The  criticism  on  Tennyson  as  a  playwright  seems 
to  me  equally  admirable  with  the  criticism  on  Bulwer 
Lytton,  and  all  the  more  admirable  when  the  two  are 
read  in  conjunction.  Doubtless  Tennyson  will  never  be 
so  successful  on  the  boards  as  Lytton  has  been.  Becket 
is  a  loose  and  ill-made  play  in  many  respects,  and  suc- 
ceeded with  the  public  only  because  Irving  was  able  to 
pull  it  into  some  kind  of  unity  by  buckling  round  it  his 
great  impersonation  of  the  archbishop.  But  Becket  con- 
tains great  things,  and  is  a  real  addition  to  our  dramatic 
literature.  It  would  have  been  a  thousand  pities  if  it 
had  failed.  On  the  other  hand,  the  success  of  Lytton's 
plays  has  been  a  real  misfortune  to  our  drama.  In  his 
estimates  of  those  two  ancient  enemies,  Tennyson  and 
Lytton,  M.  Filon  has  shown  a  rare  power  of  under- 
standing us,  and  of  entering  into  the  spirit  of  our 
nineteenth-century  poetic  drama— such  as  it  is. 

If  I  may  be  allowed  a  word  of  partial  dissent  from 
M.  Filon,  I  would  say  that  he  assigns  too  much  space  and 
influence  to  Robertson.  Robertson  did  one  memorable 
thing :  he  drew  the  great  and  vital  tragi-comic  figure  of 
Eccles.  He  drew  many  other  pleasing  characters  and 
scenes,  most  of  them  as  essentially  false  as  the  falsities 
and  theatricalities  he  supposed  himself  to  be  super- 
seding. I  shall  be  reminded  that  in  the  volume  before 
us  M.  Filon  says  that  all  reforms  of  the  drama  pretend 
to  be  a  return  to  nature  and  to  truth.  I  have  elsewhere 
shown  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  being  consistently 
and  realistically  "  true  to  nature  "  on  the  stage.     Hamlet 


INTRODUCTION  TO  M.   FILON  207 

in  many  respects  is  farther  away  from  real  life  than  the 
shallowest  and  emptiest  farce.  It  is  in  the  seizure  and 
presentation  of  the  essential  and  distinguishing  marks 
of  a  character,  of  a  scene,  of  a  passion,  of  a  society,  of 
a  phase  of  life,  of  a  movement  of  national  thought — it  is 
in  the  seizure  and  vivid  treatment  of  some  of  these,  to 
the  exclusion  or  falsification  of  non-essentials,  that  the 
dramatist  must  lay  his  claim  to  sincerity  and  to  being 
"  true  to  nature."  And  it  seems  to  me  that  one  has  only 
to  compare  Caste,  the  typical  comedy  of  an  English 
mesalliance,  with  Le  Gendre  de  M.  Poirier,  the  typical 
comedy  of  a  French  mesalliance,  to  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  in  the  foundation  and  conduct  of  his  story 
\  Robertson  was  false  and  theatrical — theatrical,  that  is, 
in  the  employment  of  a  social  contrast  that  was  effective 
on  the  stage,  but  well-nigh,  if  not  quite,  impossible  in 
life. 

It  is  of  the  smallest  moment  to  be  "  true  to  nature  '* 
in  such  mint  and  cummin  of  the  stage  as  the  shutting  of 
a  door  with  a  real  lock ;  in  the  observation  of  niceties  of 
expression  and  behaviour ;  in  the  careful  copying  of  little 
fleeting  modesand  gestures;  in  the  introduction  of  certain 
realistic  bits  of  business — it  is,  I  say,  of  the  smallest 
moment  to  be  "true  to  nature"  in  these,  if  the  play- 
wright is  false  to  nature  in  all  the  great  verities  of  the 
heart  and  spirit  of  man,  if  his  work  as  a  whole  leaves 
the  final  impression  that  the  vast,  unimaginable  drama 
of  human  life  is  as  petty  and  meaningless  and  empty  as 
our  own  English  theatre.  A  fair  way  to  measure  any 
dramatist  is  to  ask  this  question  of  his  work  :  "  Does  he 
make  human  life  as  small  as  his  own  theatre,  so  that 
there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said  about  either ;  or  does 
he  hint  that  human  life  so  far  transcends  any  theatre, 
that  all  attempts  to  deal  with  it  on  the  boards,  even  the 
highest,  even  Hamlet,  even  (Edipus,  even  Faust,  are 
but  shadows  and  guesses  and  perishable  toys  of  the 
stage  ?  " 

Robertson   has  nothing  to  say  to  us  in   1896.     He 


208     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

drew  one  great  character  and  many  pleasing  ones  in 
puerile,  impossible  schemes,  without  relation  to  any 
larger  world  than  the  very  narrow  English  theatrical 
world  of  1865-70. 

In  his  analysis  of  the  influence  of  Ibsen  in  England 
and  France,  M.  Filon  seems  to  touch  the  right  note. 
I  may  perhaps  be  permitted  a  word  of  personal  explana- 
tion in  this  connection.  When  I  came  up  to  London 
sixteen  years  ago,  to  try  for  a  place  among  English 
playwrights,  a  rough  translation  from  the  German 
version  of  The  Dolts  House  was  put  into  my  hands, 
and  I  was  told  that  if  it  could  be  turned  into  a  sym- 
pathetic play,  a  ready  opening  would  be  found  for  it  on 
the  London  boards.  I  knew  nothing  of  Ibsen,  but  I 
knew  a  great  deal  of  Robertson  and  H.  J.  Byron.  From 
these  circumstances  came  the  adaptation  called  Breaking 
a  Butterfly.  I  pray  it  may  be  forgotten  from  this  time, 
or  remembered  only  with  leniency  amongst  other  trans- 
gressions of  my  dramatic  youth  and  ignorance. 

I  pass  on  to  speak  of  M.  Filon's  work  as  a  whole. 
For  a  generation  or  two  past  France  has  held  the  lead, 
and  rightly  held  the  lead,  in  the  European  theatre.  She 
has  done  this  by  virtue  of  a  peculiar  innate  dramatic 
instinct  in  her  people  ;  by  virtue  of  great  traditions  and 
thorough  methods  of  training;  by  virtue  of  national 
recognition  of  her  dramatists  and  actors,  and  national 
pride  in  them ;  and  by  virtue  of  the  freedom  she  has 
allowed  to  her  playwrights.  So  far  as  they  have  abused 
that  freedom,  so  far  as  they  have  become  the  mere  pur- 
veyors of  sexual  eccentricity  and  perversity,  so  far  the 
French  drama  has  declined.  So  cunningly  economic  is 
Nature,  she  will  slip  in  her  moral  by  hook  or  by  crook. 
There  cannot  be  an  intellectual  effort  in  any  province  of 
art  without  a  moral  implication. 

But  France,  though  her  great  band  of  playwrights  is 
broken  up,  still  lords  it  over  the  European  drama,  or 
rather,  over  the  European  theatre.  There  is  still  a 
feeling  among  our  upper-class  English  audiences  that 


INTRODUCTION  TO   M.  FILON  209 

a  play,  an  author,  an  actor  and  actress,  are  good  because 
they  are  French.  There  is,  or  has  been,  a  sound  reason 
for  that  feeling.  And  there  is  still,  as  M.  Filon  says  in 
his  Preface,  a  corresponding  feeling  in  France  that  "  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  an  English  drama."  There  has  been 
an  equally  sound  reason  for  that  feeling.  M.  Filon  has 
done  us  the  great  kindness  of  trying  to  remove  it.  We 
still  feel  very  shy  in  coming  before  our  French  neigh- 
bours ;  like  humble,  honest,  poor  relations  who  are 
getting  on  a  little  in  the  world,  and  would  like  to  have 
a  nod  from  our  aristocratic  kinsfolk.  We  are  uneasy 
about  the  reception  we  shall  meet,  and  nervous  and 
diffident  in  making  our  bow  to  the  French  public.  A 
nod  from  our  aristocratic  relations,  a  recognition  from 
France,  might  be  of  so  much  use  in  our  parish  here  at 
home.  For  in  all  matters  of  the  modern  drama  England 
is  no  better  than  a  parish,  with  "  porochial"  judgments, 
"  porochial  "  instincts,  and  "  porochial "  ways  of  looking 
at  things.  There  is  not  a  breath  of  national  sentiment, 
a  breath  of  national  feeling ;  there  is  no  width  of  view, 
in  the  way  English  playgoers  regard  their  drama. 

M.  Filon  has  sketched  in  the  following  pages  the 
history  of  the  recent  dramatic  movement  in  England. 
If  I  were  asked  what  was  the  distinguishing  mark  of 
that  movement,  I  should  say  that  during  the  years  when 
it  was  in  progress  there  was  a  steadfast  and  growing 
attempt  to  treat  the  great  realities  of  our  modern  life 
upon  our  stage ;  to  bring  our  drama  into  relation  with 
our  literature,  our  religion,  our  art,  and  our  science, 
and  to  make  it  reflect  the  main  movements  of  our 
national  thought  and  character.  That  anything  great 
or  permanent  was  accomplished  I  am  the  last  to  claim ; 
all  was  crude,  confused,  tentative,  aspiring.  But  there 
was  life  in  it.  Again  I  shall  be  reminded  that  dramatic 
reformers  always  pretend  that  they  return  to  nature 
and  truth,  and  are  generally  found  out  by  the  next 
generation  to  be  stale  and  theatrical  impostors.  But  if 
any  one  will  take  the  trouble  to  examine  the  leading 

p 


2IO    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

English  plays  of  the  last  ten  years,  and  will  compare 
them  with  the  serious  plays  of  our  country  during  the 
last  three  centuries,  I  shall  be  mistaken  if  he  will  not 
find  evidence  of  the  beginnings,  the  first  small  shoots  of 
an  English  drama  of  greater  import  and  vitality,  and  of 
wider  aim  than  any  school  of  drama  the  English  theatre 
has  known  since  the  Elizabethans.  The  brilliant  Restora- 
tion comedy  makes  no  pretence  to  be  a  national  drama : 
neither  do  the  comedies  of  Sheridan  and  Goldsmith. 
There  was  no  possibility  of  a  great  national  English 
drama  between  Milton  and  the  French  Revolution,  any 
more  than  there  was  a  possibility  of  a  great  school  of 
English  poetry.  And  the  feelings  that  were  let  loose 
after  the  convulsions  of  1793  did  not  in  England  run  in 
the  direction  of  the  drama.  It  is  only  within  the  present 
generation  that  great  masses  of  Englishmen  have  begun 
to  frequent  the  theatre.  And  as  our  vast  city  popula- 
tion began  to  get  into  a  habit  of  playgoing,  and  our 
theatres  became  more  crowded,  it  seemed  not  too  much 
to  hope  that  a  school  of  English  drama  might  be  de- 
veloped amongst  us,  and  that  we  might  induce  more 
and  more  of  our  theatre-goers  to  find  their  pleasure  in 
seeing  their  lives  portrayed  at  the  theatre,  rather  than 
in  running  to  the  theatre  to  escape  from  their  lives. 

After  considerable  advances  had  been  made  in  this 
direction,  the  movement  became  obscured  and  burles- 
qued, and  finally  the  British  public  fell  into  what 
Macaulay  calls  one  of  its  periodical  panics  of  morality. 
In  that  panic  the  English  drama  disappeared  for  the 
time,  and  at  the  moment  of  writing  it  does  not  exist. 
There  are  many  excellent  entertainments  at  our  different 
theatres,  and  most  of  them  are  deservedly  successful. 
,  But  in  the  very  height  of  this  theatrical  season  there 
\is  not  a  single  London  theatre  that  is  giving  a  play  that 
so  much  as  pretends  to  picture  our  modern  English  life, 
— I  might  almost  say  that  pretends  to  picture  human 
life  at  all.  I  have  not  a  word  to  say  against  these 
various   entertainments.      I   have   been   delighted  with 


INTRODUCTION   TO  M.   FILON  211 

some  of  them,  and  heartily  welcome  their  success.  But 
what  has  become  of  the  English  drama  that  M.  Filon 
has  given  so  many  of  the  following  pages  to  discuss 
and  dissect?  I  wish  M.  Filon  would  devote  another 
article  in  the  Revue  des  deux  Mondes  to  explain  to  his 
countrymen  what  has  taken  place  in  the  English  theatre 
since  his  articles  were  written.  It  needs  a  Frenchman 
to  explain,  and  a  French  audience  to  understand,  the 
full  comedy  of  the  situation. 

For  ten  years  the  English  theatre-going  public  had 
been  led  to  take  an  increasing  interest  in  their  national 
drama — I  mean  the  drama  as  a  picture  of  life  in  opposi- 
tion to  a  funny  theatrical  entertainment — and  during 
those  ten  years  that  drama  had  grown  in  strength  of 
purpose,  in  largeness  of  aim,  in  vividness  of  character- 
painting,  in  every  quality  that  promised  England  a 
living  school  of  drama.  It  began  to  deal  with  the  great 
realities  of  modern  English  life.  It  was  pressing  on  to 
be  a  real  force  in  the  spiritual  and  intellectual  life  of  the 
nation.  It  began  to  attract  the  attention  of  Europe. 
But  it  became  entangled  with  another  movement,  got 
caught  in  the  skirts  of  the  sexual-pessimistic  blizzard 
sweeping  over  North  Europe,  was  confounded  with  it, 
and  was  execrated  and  condemned  without  examination. 
I  say  without  examination.  Let  any  one  turn  to  the 
newspapers  of  November,  1894,  and  read  the  corre-  \ 
spondence  which  began  the  assault  on  the  modern  school  ■ 
of  Enghsh  drama.  Let  him  discover,  if  he  can,  in  the 
letters  of  those  who  attacked  it,  what  notions  they  had 
as  to  the  relations  of  morality  to  the  drama.  It  will 
interest  M.  Filon's  countrymen  to  know  that  British 
playwrights  were  condemned  in  the  interests  of  British 
morality.  And  when  one  tried  to  find  out  what  par- 
ticular system  of  morality  the  English  public  was  trying 
to  force  upon  its  dramatists,  one  discovered  that  it 
was  precisely  that  system  of  morality  which  is  prac- 
tised amongst  wax  dolls.  Not  the  broad,  genial,  worldly 
morality     of    Shakespeare  ;     not    the    deep,    devious, 


212     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

confused,  but  most  human  morality  of  the  Bible ;  not  a 
high,  severe,  ascetic  morality ;  not  even  a  sour,  grim, 
puritanic  morality.  No  !  let  any  candid  inquirer  search 
into  this  matter  and  try  to  get  at  the  truth  of  it,  and  ask 
what  has  been  the  recent  demand  of  English  playgoers 
in  this  matter,  and  he  will  find  it  is  for  a  wax-doll 
morality. 

Now,  there  is  much  to  be  said  for  the  establishment 
of  a  system  of  wax-doll  morality,  not  only  on  the  English 
stage,  but  also  in  the  world  at  large.  And  all  of  us 
who  have  properly-regulated  minds  must  regret  that, 
through  some  unaccountable  oversight,  it  did  not  occur 
to  Providence  to  carry  on  the  due  progress  and  suc- 
cession of  the  human  species  by  means  of  some  such 
system. 

I  say  it  must  have  been  an  oversight.  For  can  we 
doubt  that,  had  this  excellent  method  suggested  itself, 
it  would  have  been  instantly  adopted  ?  Can  we  sup- 
pose that  Providence  would  have  deliberately  rejected 
so  sweetly  pretty  and  simple  an  expedient  for  putting 
a  stop  to  immorality,  not  only  on  the  English  stage 
to-day,  but  everywhere  and  always  ? 

I  know  there  is  a  real  dilemma.  But  surely  those  of 
us  who  are  truly  reverent  will  suspect  Providence  of  a 
little  nodding  and  negligence  in  this  matter,  rather  than 
of  virtual  complicity  with  immorality — for  that  is  what 
the  only  alternate  hypothesis  amounts  to. 

But  seeing  that,  by  reason  of  this  lamentable  over- 
sight of  Providence,  English  life  is  not  sustained  and 
renewed  by  means  of  wax-doll  morality,  what  is  a  poor 
playwright  to  do  ?  I  am  quite  aware  that  what  is  going 
on  in  English  life  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  what 
is  going  on  at  the  English  theatres  in  the  autumn  of 
1896.  Still,  like  Caleb  Plummer,  in  a  matter  of  this 
kind  one  would  like  to  get  "  as  near  natur'  as  possible;" 
or,  at  least,  not  to  falsify  and  improve  her  beyond  all 
chance  of  recognition.  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  accused  of 
any  feeling  of  enmity  against  wax-doll  morality  in  the 


INTRODUCTION  TO  M.    FILON  213 

abstract.  I  think  it  a  most  excellent,  nay,  a  perfect 
theory  of  morals.  The  more  I  consider  it,  the  more 
eloquent  I  could  grow  in  its  favour.  I  do  not  mean  to 
practise  it  myself,  but  I  do  most  cordially  recommend  it 
to  all  my  neighbours. 

To  return.  The  newspaper  correspondence  showed 
scarcely  a  suspicion  that  morality  on  the  stage  meant 
anything  else  than  shutting  one's  eyes  alike  to  facts  and 
to  truth,  and  making  one's  characters  behave  like  wax 
dolls.  As  to  the  bent  and  purpose  of  the  dramatist, 
there  was  so  little  of  the  dramatic  sense  abroad,  that 
an  act  of  a  play  which  was  written  to  ridicule  the 
detestable,  cheap,  paradoxical  affectations  of  vice  and 
immorality  current  among  a  certain  section  of  society 
was  censured  as  being  an  attempt  to  copy  the  thing  it 
was  satirising  !  So  impossible  is  it  to  get  the  average 
Englishman  to  distinguish  for  a  moment  between  the 
dramatist  and  his  characters.  The  one  notion  that  the 
public  got  into  its  head  was  that  we  were  a  set  of  gloomy 
corrupters  of  youth,  and  it  hooted  accordingly.  Now, 
I  do  not  deny  that  many  undesirable  things,  many 
things  to  regret,  many  extreme  things,  and  some  few 
unclean  things,  fastened  upon  the  recent  dramatic  move- 
ment. And  so  far  as  it  had  morbid  issues,  so  far  as  it 
tended  merely  to  distress  and  confuse,  so  far  as  it  painted 
vice  and  ugliness  for  their  own  sakes,  so  far  it  was 
rightly  and  inevitably  condemned  ;  nay,  so  far  it  con- 
demned and  destroyed  itself.  But  these,  I  maintain, 
were  side-tendencies.  They  were  not  the  essence  of 
the  movement.  They  were  the  extravagances  and  con- 
fusions that  always  attend  a  revival,  whether  in  art  or 
religion.  And  by  the  general  public,  who  can  never  get 
but  one  idea,  and  never  more  than  one  side  of  that  idea, 
into  its  head  at  a  time,  these  extravagances  and  side- 
shoots  are  taken  for  the  very  heart  of  the  movement. 

Take  the  Oxford  movement.  Did  the  great  British 
public  get  a  glimmer  of  Newman's  lofty  idea  of  the 
continual  indwelling  miraculous  spiritual  force  of, the 


214    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

Church  ?  No.  It  got  a  notion  into  its  head  that  a  set 
of  rabid,  dishonest  bigots  were  trying  to  violate  the 
purity  of  its  Protestant  religion ;  so  it  hooted  and  howled, 
stamped  upon  the  movement,  and  went  back  to  hug  the 
sallow  corpse  of  Evangelicalism  for  another  quarter  of 
a  century.  The  movement  was  thought  to  be  killed. 
But  it  was  only  scotched,  and  it  is  the  one  operative 
force  in  the  English  Church  to-day. 

Take,  again,  the  aesthetic  movement.  Did  the  great 
British  public  get  a  glimmer  of  William  Morris's  lofty 
idea  of  making  every  home  in  England  beautiful?  No. 
It  got  a  notion  into  its  head  that  a  set  of  idiotic  fops 
had  gone  crazy  in  worship  of  sunflowers ;  so  it  giggled 
and  derided,  and  went  back  to  its  geometric-patterned 
Brussels  carpets,  its  flock  wall-papers,  and  all  the 
damnable  trumpery  of  Tottenham  Court  Road.  The 
movement  was  thought  to  be  killed,  but  it  was  only 
scotched ;  and  whatever  beauty  there  is  in  English 
interiors,  whatever  advance  has  been  made  in  decorating 
our  homes,  is  due  to  that  movement.  Again,  to  com- 
pare small  things  with  great,  in  the  recent  attempt  to 
give  England  a  living  national  drama,  we  have  been 
judged  not  upon  the  essence  of  the  matter,  but  upon 
certain  extravagances  and  side-tendencies.  The  great 
public  got  a  notion  into  its  head  that  a  set  of  gloomy, 
vicious  persons  had  conspired  to  corrupt  the  youth  of 
our  nation  by  writing  immoral  plays.  And  the  untimely 
accident  of  a  notorious  prosecution  giving  some  colour 
to  the  opinion,  no  further  examination  was  made  of  the 
matter.  A  clean  sweep  was  made  of  the  whole  busi- 
ness, and  a  rigid  system  of  wax-doll  morality  established 
forthwith ;  so  far,  that  is,  as  the  modern  prose  drama  is 
concerned.  But  this  wax-doll  morality  is  only  forced 
upon  the  serious  drama  of  modern  life.  It  is  not 
forced  upon  farce,  or  musical  comedy.  It  is  only  the 
serious  dramatist  who  has  been  gagged  and  handcuffed. 
Adultery  is  still  an  excellent  joke  in  a  farce,  provided  it 
is  conveyed  by  winks  and  nods.      The  whole  body  of 


INTRODUCTION  TO   M.   FILON  215 

a  musical  comedy  may  reek  with  cockney  indecency 
and  witlessness,  and  yet  no  English  mother  will  sniff 
offence,  provided  it  is  covered  up  with  dances  and  songs. 
I  repeat  that  if  a  thorough  examination  is  made  of  the 
matter,  it  will  be  found  that  the  recent  movement  has 
been  judged  upon  a  small  side-issue. 

We  may  hope  that  the  English  translation  of 
M.  Filon's  work  will  do  something  to  reinstate  us  in 
the  good  opinion  of  our  countrymen.  I  think,  if  his 
readers  will  take  his  cue  that  during  the  last  few  years 
there  has  been  an  earnest  attempt  on  the  part  of  a  few 
writers  to  establish  a  living  English  drama,  that  is,  a 
drama,  which  within  necessary  limitations  and  conven- 
tions, has  set  out  with  a  determination  to  see  English  life 
as  it  really  is,  and  to  paint  English  men  and  women  as 
they  really  are — I  think  if  playgoers  will  take  that  cue 
from  M.  Filon,  they  will  get  a  better  notion  of  the  truth 
of  the  case  than  if  they  still  regard  us  as  gloomy  and 
perverse  corrupters  of  English  youth. 

A  passage  from  George  Meredith  may  perhaps  serve 
to  indicate  the  position  of  the  English  drama  at  the 
present  moment,  and  to  point  in  what  direction  its 
energies  should  lie  when  the  gags  and  handcuffs  are 
removed,  and  the  stiffness  gets  out  of  its  joints.  At  the 
opening  of  Diana  of  the  Crossways  these  memorable  words 
occur : — 

"  Then,  ah !  then,  moreover,  will  the  novelist's  art 
(and  the  dramatist's),  now  neither  blushless  infant  nor 
executive  man,  have  attained  its  majority.  We  can 
then  be  veraciously  historical,  honestly  transcriptive. 
Rose-pink  and  dirty  drab  will  alike  have  passed  away. 
Philosophy  is  the  foe  of  both,  and  their  silly  cancelling 
contest,  perpetually  renewed  in  a  shuffle  of  extremes,  as 
it  always  is  where  a  phantasm  falseness  reigns,  will  no 
longer  baffle  the  contemplation  of  natural  flesh,  smother 
no  longer  the  soul  issuing  out  of  our  incessant  strife. 
Philosophy  bids  us  to  see  that  we  are  not  so  pretty 
as  rose-pink,  not  so  repulsive  as  dirty  drab ;  and  that, 
instead  of  everlastingly  shifting  those  barren  aspects,  the 


2i6    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

sight  of  ourselves  is  wholesome,  bearable,  fructifying, 
finally  a  delight.  Do  but  perceive  that  we  are  coming 
to  philosophy,  the  stride  toward  it  will  be  a  giant's — 
a  century  a  day.  And  imagine  the  celestial  refreshment 
of  having  a  pure  decency  in  the  place  of  sham  ;  real 
flesh;  a  soul  born  active,  wind-beaten,  but  ascending. 
Honourable  will  fiction  (and  the  drama)  then  appear  ; 
honourable,  a  fount  of  life,  an  aid  to  life,  quick  with  our 
blood.  Why,  when  you  behold  it  you  love  it, — and  you 
will  not  encourage  it  ? — or  only  when  presented  by  dead 
hands  ?  Worse  than  that  alternative  dirty  drab,  your 
recurring  rose-pink  is  rebuked  by  hideous  revelations  of 
the  filthy  foul ;  for  nature  will  force  her  way,  and  if  you 
try  to  stifle  her  by  drowning  she  comes  up,  not  the  fairest 
part  of  her  uppermost !  Peruse  your  Realists — really 
your  castigators,  for  not  having  yet  embraced  philoso- 
phy. As  she  grows  in  the  flesh  when  discreetly  tended, 
nature  is  unimpeachable,  flower-like,  yet  not  too  decora- 
tively  a  flower ;  you  must  have  her  with  the  stem,  the 
thorns,  the  roots,  and  the  fat  bedding  of  roses.  In  this 
fashion  she  grew,  says  historical  fiction  ;  thus  does  she 
flourish  now,  would  say  the  modern  transcript,  reading 
the  inner  as  well  as  exhibiting  the  outer. 

"  And  how  may  you  know  that  you  have  reached 
to  philosophy  ?  You  touch  her  skirts  when  you  share 
her  hatred  of  the  sham  decent,  her  derision  of  senti- 
mentalism.  You  are  one  with  her  when — but  I  would 
not  have  you  a  thousand  years  older !  Get  to  her,  if 
in  no  other  way,  by  the  sentimental  route : — that  very 
winding  path,  which  again  and  again  brings  you  round 
to  the  point  of  original  impetus,  where  you  have  to 
be  unwound  for  another  whirl ;  your  point  of  original 
impetus  being  the  grossly  material,  not  at  all  the 
spiritual.  It  is  most  true  that  sentimentalism  springs 
from  the  former,  merely  and  badly  aping  the  latter; — 
fine  flower,  or  pinnacle  flame-spire,  of  sensualism  that  it 
is,  could  it  do  other  ? — and  accompanying  the  former  it 
traverses  tracks  of  desert,  here  and  there  crouching  in 
a  garden,  catching  with  one  hand  at  fruits,  with  another 
at  colours ;  imagining  a  secret  ahead,  and  goaded  by 
an  appetite  sustained  by  sheer  gratifications.  Fiddle  in 
harmonics  as  it  may,  it  will  have  these  gratifications  at 
all  costs.  Should  none  be  discoverable,  at  once  you 
are  at  the  Cave  of  Despair,  beneath  the  funeral  orb  of 
Glaucoma,  in  the  thick  midst  of  poinarded,  slit-throat 


INTRODUCTION   TO   M.    FILON  217 

rope-dependent  figures,  placarded  across  the  bosom 
Disillusioned,  Infidel,  Agnostic,  Miserrimus,  This  is 
the  sentimental  route  to  advancement.  Spirituality  does 
not  light  it ;  evanescent  dreams  are  its  oil-lamps,  often 
with  wick  askant  in  the  socket. 

"  A  thousand  years !  You  may  count  full  many  a 
thousand  by  this  route  before  you  are  one  with  divine 
philosophy.  Whereas  a  single  flight  of  brains  will  reach 
and  embrace  her;  give  you  the  savour  of  Truth,  the 
right  use  of  the  senses.  Reality's  infinite  sweetness  ;  for 
these  things  are  in  philosophy;  and  the  fiction  (and 
drama)  which  is  the  summary  of  actual  Life,  the  within 
and  without  of  us,  is,  prose  or  verse,  plodding  or  soaring, 
philosophy's  elect  handmaiden." 

"  Dirty  drab  and  rose-pink,  with  their  silly  cancelling 
contest" — does  not  that  sum  up  the  English  drama  of 
the  last  few  years?  There  was  certainly  a  shade  too 
much  dirty  drab  outside  a  while  back,  but  within  there 
was  life.  What  life  is  there  in  the  drama  that  has 
followed  ?  Where  does  it  paint  one  living  English 
character  ?  Where  does  it  touch  one  single  interest  of 
our  present  life,  one  single  concern  of  man's  body,  soul, 
or  spirit  ?  What  have  these  rose-pink  revels  of  wax  dolls 
to  do  with  the  immense,  tragic,  incoherent  Babel  around 
us,  with  all  its  multifold  interests,  passions,  beliefs,  and 
aspirations?  When  will  philosophy  come  to  our  aid 
and  depose  this  silly  rose-pink  wax-doll  morality  ? 

"  But,"  says  the  British  mother,  "  I  must  have  plays 
that  I  can  take  my  daughters  to  see." 

"Quite  so,  my  dear  ma'am,  and  so  you  shall.  But 
do  you  let  your  daughters  read  the  Bible  ?  The  great 
realities  of  life  are  there  handled  in  a  far  plainer  and 
more  outrageous  way  than  they  are  ever  handled  on  the 
English  stage,  and  yet  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  think 
that  the  Bible  has  had  a  corrupt  influence  on  the  youth 
of  our  nation.  Do  you  let  them  read  Shakespeare? 
Again  there  is  the  freest  handling  of  all  these  subjects, 
and  again  I  cannot  think  that  Shakespeare  is  a  corrupter 
of  English  youth." 


2i8     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

The  question  of  verbal  indecency  or  grossness  has 
really  very  little  to  do  with  the  matter.  A  few  centuries 
ago  English  gentlewomen  habitually  used  words  and 
spoke  of  matters  in  a  way  that  would  be  considered 
disgusting  in  a  smoking-room  to-day.  We  may  be  very 
glad  to  have  outgrown  the  verbal  coarseness  of  former 
generations.  But  we  are  not  on  that  account  to  plume 
ourselves  on  being  the  more  moral.  It  is  a  matter  of 
taste  and  custom,  not  of  morality. 

The  real  knot  of  the  question  is  in  the  method  of 
treating  the  great  passions  of  humanity.  If  the  English 
public  sticks  to  its  present  decision  that  these  passions 
are  not  to  be  handled  at  all,  then  no  drama  is  possible. 
We  shall  continue  our  revels  of  wax  dolls,  and  our 
theatres  will  provide  entertainments,  not  drama.  I  do 
not  shut  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  many  of  the  greatest 
concerns  of  human  life  lie,  to  a  great  extent,  outside  the 
sexual  question ;  and  many  great  plays  have  been,  and 
can  be,  written  without  touching  upon  these  matters  at 
all.  But  the  general  public  will  have  none  of  them. 
The  general  public  demands  a  love-story,  and  insists 
that  it  shall  be  the  main  interest  of  the  play.  And  every 
English  playwright  knows  that  to  offer  the  public  a 
pure  love-story  is  the  surest  way  of  winning  a  popular 
success.  He  knows  that  if  he  treats  of  unlawful  love 
he  imperils  his  chances  and  tends  to  drive  away  whole 
classes — one  may  say,  the  great  majority  of  playgoers. 

"  Then  why  be  so  foolish  as  to  do  it  ?  "  is  the  obvious 
reply. 

The  dramatist  has  no  choice.  He  is  as  helpless  as 
Balaam,  and  can  as  little  tune  his  prophesying  to  a  fore- 
gone pleasing  issue.  A  certain  story  presents  itself  to 
him,  forces  itself  upon  him,  takes  shape  and  coherence 
in  his  mind,  becomes  organic.  The  story  comes  auto- 
matically, grows  naturally  and  spontaneously  from  what 
he  has  observed  and  experienced  in  the  world  around 
him ;  he  cannot  alter  its  drift  or  reverse  its  significance 
without  murdering  his  artistic  instincts  and  impulses, 


INTRODUCTION  TO  M.   FILON  219 

and  making  his  play  a  dead,  mechanical  thing.  There 
are  many  stories  which  treat  of  pure  love  thwarted 
and  baffled  and  at  last  rewarded.  I  do  not  say  that 
these  stories  may  not  be  worth  telling.  But  it  is  guilt 
and  sin  which  give  the  great  dramatist  his  chance. 
Tragedy,  like  religion,  is  the  fine  flower  of  a  per- 
ception of  the  sanctity  and  deep  significance  of  life ; 
and  of  an  apprehension  of  a  besetting  supernatural 
power,  whose  ways  and  thoughts  are  not  our  ways 
and  thoughts,  and  are  past  finding  out.  That  perception 
gives  Tragedy  its  "  pity " ;  that  apprehension  gives 
Tragedy  its  "  terror."  Therefore  our  modern  realistic 
tragedy  is  of  a  low  order.     It  needs  a  background. 

From  the  nature  of  the  case,  the  course  of  a  lawful 
love,  though  it  may  not  run  altogether  smooth,  does 
not  offer  the  same  tremendous  opportunities  to  the 
dramatist.  In  affairs  of  love,  as  in  those  of  war, 
happy  are  they  who  have  no  history !  Almost  all  the 
great  love-stories  of  the  world  have  been  stories  of 
unlawful  love,  and  many  of  the  great  plays  of  the 
world  are  built  round  stories  of  unlawful  love.  David 
and  Bathsheba,  "  the  tale  of  Troy  divine,"  Agamemnon, 
(Edipus,  Phaedra,  Tristram  and  Iseult,  Antony  and  Cleo- 
patra, Hamlet,  Abelard  and  Heloise,  Paolo  and  Francesca, 
Faust  and  Margaret,  Burns  and  his  Scotch  lassies.  Nelson 
and  Lady  Hamilton — what  have  these  to  do  with  wax- 
doll  morality  ?  What  has  wax-doll  morality  to  do  with 
them  ? 

I  know  the  question  is  a  difficult  one.  Much  may  be 
said  for  the  French  custom  of  keeping  young  girls  alto- 
gether away  from  the  theatre.  I  believe  Dumas  fils  did 
not  allow  his  daughter  to  see  any  of  his  plays  before 
she  was  married — a  fact  that  reminds  one  of  Mr.  Brooke's 
delightful  suggestion  to  Casaubon — "Get  Dorothea  to 
read  you  light  things  —  Smollett  —  Roderick  Random^ 
Humphrey  Clinker,  They're  a  little  broad,  but  she  7nay 
read  anything  now  she's  married,  you  know." 

But  whatever  liberty  may  for  the  future  be  allowed 


220    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

to  the  dramatist  or  to  his  hearers,  I  am  sure  that  no 
play  which  came  from  any  English  author  of  repute 
during  the  years  included  in  M.  Filon's  survey  could 
work  in  any  girl's  mind  so  much  mischief  as  must  be 
done  by  the  constant  trickle  of  little  cheap  cockney 
indecencies  and  suggestions  which  make  the  staple  of 
entertainment  at  some  of  our  theatres.  But,  as  I  have 
said,  it  is  only  the  serious  dramatist  who  in  the  present 
state  of  public  feeling  is  called  to  account  for  immoral 
teaching. 

I  have  strayed  far  from  my  immediate  subject.  But 
if  I  have  written  anything  that  cannot  be  considered 
appropriate  as  a  preface  to  M.  Filon's  book,  I  hope  it 
may  be  accepted  as  a  supplement.  At  the  time  M.  Filon 
wrote,  the  English  drama  was  a  force  in  the  land,  and 
had  the  promise  of  a  long  and  vigorous  future.  Now 
those  who  were  leading  it  stand,  for  the  moment,  de- 
feated and  discredited  before  their  countrymen.  But 
the  movement  is  not  killed.  It  is  only  scotched.  The 
English  drama  will  always  have  immortal  longings  and 
aspirations,  though  we  may  not  be  chosen  to  satisfy 
them. 

Meantime,  one  cannot  help  casting  wistful  eyes  to 
France,  and  thinking  in  how  different  a  manner  we 
should  have  been  received  by  the  countrymen  of 
M.  Filon,  with  their  alert  dramatic  instinct,  their  cul- 
tivated dramatic  intelligence,  their  responsiveness  to 
the  best  that  the  drama  has  to  offer  them.  France 
would  not  have  misunderstood  us.  France  would  not 
have  treated  us  in  the  spirit  of  Bumble.  France 
would  not  have  mistaken  the  men  who  were  sweating 
to  put  a  little  life  into  her  national  drama,  for  a  set 
of  gloomy  corrupters  of  youth.  France  would  not 
have  bound  and  gagged  us  and  handed  us  over  to  the 
Philistines. 

M.  Filon  has  done  us  a  kindness  in  bringing  us  for 
a  moment  before  the  eyes  of  Europe.  He  will  have 
done  us  a  far  greater  kindness  if  the  English  edition  of 


INTRODUCTION  TO    M.   FILON  221 

his  book  helps  our  own  countrymen  to  form  a  juster 
opinion  of  those,  who  in  the  face  of  recent  discourage- 
ment and  misrepresentation,  who,  with  many  faults  and 
blunders  and  deficiencies,  have  yet  struggled  to  make 
the  English  drama  a  real  living  art,  an  intellectual 
product  worthy  of  a  great  nation. 


XIV 

THE   DRAMA   IN   THE   ENGLISH   PROVINCES   IN    IQOO 

From  an  article  in  "The  Nineteenth  Century"  for  March,  1901,  by 
the  kind  permission  of  the  late  Sir  James  Knowles. 

When  I  became  a  provincial  playgoer  in  1870  the  old 
circuit  system  had  been  dead  for  nearly  a  generation, 
and  the  stock  company  system  was  already  dying.  A 
very  vivid  and  charming  little  miniature  sketch  of  the 
old  circuit  actor  is  to  be  found  in  M.  Filon's  account  of 
the  English  stage  reprinted  from  the  "  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes."  But  the  strolling  player  perished  before  my 
playgoing  days,  or  lingered  only  in  the  provincial  stock 
company  that  was  itself  on  its  last  legs.  It  was,  of 
course,  the  railway  that  did  to  death  both  the  old  circuit 
actor  and  the  settled  provincial  stock  company. 

I  was  able  to  watch  the  transition  in  the  provinces 
from  the  stock  company  located  for  a  season  in  one 
town  and  playing  a  repertory,  to  our  present  system 
of  travelling  companies  moving  from  town  to  town  and 
playing  only  one  of  the  recent  London  successes.  For 
a  year  or  two  almost  every  evening  saw  me  regularly 
in  the  pit  of  the  theatre  of  a  Northern  manufacturing 
town.  The  company  was  probably  an  average  stock 
company  of  the  time.  There  was  the  "leading"  man; 
the  "leading  juvenile"  man;  the  " heavy"  man;  the  "low" 
comedian;  the  "old"  man;  the  "first  utility  "man;  the 
"general  utility"  man;  and  the  "light  comedy"  man. 
This  latter  performer  did  also  in  his  own  single  person 
body  forth  those  types  of  male  humanity  whose  character, 

222 


DRAMA  IN  ENGLISH   PROVINCES  IN  1900    223 

bearing,  and  form,  clearly  proclaimed  them  to  be  "  walk- 
ing gentlemen  " — that  is,  when  suitably  attired  in  woe- 
fully-fitting lavender  trousers,  and  a  pair  of  split  and 
dirty  lemon  kid  gloves. 

To  turn  to  the  other  sex,  there  were  the  "leading 
lady  " ;  the  "  heavy  "  lady  (whose  appearance  provoked 
a  sorry  obvious  jest)  ;  the  "  old  woman  " ;  the  "  general 
utility"  lady;  the  "chambermaid";  and  the  "walking" 
lady,  whose  style,  manner,  and  dress,  displayed  a  large 
imaginative  caprice,  and  were  a  fitting  pendant  to  those 
of  the  "  walking  gentleman  "  ;  though  indeed  they  were 
not  readily  recognizable  as  appropriate  to  any  "  lady " 
who  ever  "walked"  our  own  or  any  other  land.  It 
will  thus  be  seen  that  the  company  contained  repre- 
sentatives of  those  twelve  or  fourteen  everlasting  types 
into  which,  according  to  the  still  lingering  delightful 
classification  of  our  English  theatre,  our  Fashioner  is 
always  moulding  and  baking  his  creatures,  as  if  he 
were  some  decrepit  old  potter  whose  invention  had 
decayed. 

There  was  not,  so  far  as  I  can  remember,  a  "  singing 
chambermaid."     Heyday !     Here's  a  tempting  theme ! 

Hist !  Hist !  Thou  ravishing  visitant  to  this  sad 
earth,  thou  twinkling  shaft  of  sunlight  shot  across  our 
northern  gloom,  would  that  troops  and  troops  of  thy 
saucy  sisterhood  skipped  everywhere  amongst  us,  and 
everywhere  infected  and  inflamed  our  stubborn  bleak 
commercialism  till  it  danced  and  sang  in  rampant  unison 
with  thee,  even  to  the  scandalous  verge  of  making 
England  merry  again,  thou  impudent  charmer!  Alas, 
what  boots  it,  songstress,  to  sing  thy  praises  ?  Thou 
art  not  any  past  or  present  actuality  of  English  life. 
Thou  art  not  to  be  found  carolling  on  thy  errands 
along  the  corridors  of  any  company  hotel.  Thou  art 
a  phantom  of  the  footlights  and  theatrical  advertisements, 
from  whence  thou  art  shabbily  vanishing,  or  hast  shabbily 
vanished.     Adieu,  figment ! 

In  addition  to   representatives  of  those   twelve   or 


224    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

fourteen   well-defined   types,  into   which,  according   to 
theatrical   phraseology,   it   has   pleased   Providence   to 
cast  humanity,  there  were  two  leading  supers  who  were 
occasionally  augmented  for  special  productions.     These 
two  supers  were  always  present  as  the  main  body  and 
trusty  henchmen  of  Richard's  or   Macbeth's   army,  or 
the  chief  guests  in  a  modern   drawing-room.     One   of 
them  was  very  sallow,  with  thick  black  hair  and  a  low 
forehead.      His     only    expression    was    a    determined 
savage  scowl,  which  might  indeed  have  been  of  some 
happy  service  on  those  occasions  when  the  business 
of  the  scene  naturally  required  an  onlooker  to  regard 
it   with   that   expression   of  countenance.      But   unfor- 
tunately for  his  usefulness  even  at  such  rare  moments, 
his  scowl  was  always  directed  at  the  audience,  and  I 
never  detected  in  him  the  least  approach  to  any  interest 
in  the  performance.     The   other  leading  super  was  a 
large   sandy   man,   with   an   amiable   moon-face   and   a 
pronounced   squint.      So   far   as   the   shifting   and   im- 
penetrable vagaries  of  his  glance  allowed  one  to  guess 
what  was  passing  in  his  mind,  he  appeared  to  take  a 
fatherly     benevolent,     but     somewhat     contemptuous, 
interest  in  what  was  being  enacted   before   him.     He 
gave  one  the  notion  that  his  mind  was  a  storehouse  of 
futile  irrelevancies,  and  his  peculiar  expression,  added 
to   his   wonderful   (apparent)   power   of   focussing   his 
vision  simultaneously  on  the  middle  occupant   of  the 
gallery  and  on  the  bald  spot  in  the  conductor's  coiffure 
beneath  him,  conspired  harmoniously  with  his  fellow- 
super's   scowl   to   convict   every  scene   in   which   they 
appeared  of  being  a  candid  and  whimsical  imposture. 
In  saying  this  I  do  not  imply  that  their  efforts  achieved  a 
different  result  from  that  usually  achieved  by  supers ; 
or   even   by   exalted   leading  actors   and    actresses   in 
London ;   but   only   that   their    respective   methods    of 
obtaining    that    result    were    noticeably    original    and 
unique. 

To   sum   up  the  company,  it  was  fairly  capable  in 


DRAMA   IN   ENGLISH  PROVINCES   IN   1900    225 

domestic  and  legitimate  drama.  The  leading  performers 
"  knew  their  business,"  and  while  I  cannot  say  that  I 
ever  saw  a  great  performance,  I  certainly  saw  many 
sound  and  respectable  ones.  ^The  piece  was  changed 
two  or  three  times  a  week,  but  the  repertory  remained 
the  same  to  some  extent  during  the  season.  The  Man 
in  the  Iron  Mask,  Leah,  The  Corsican  Brothers,  The 
Porte/s  Knot,  and  other  and  more  bloodthirsty  melo- 
dramas constantly  changed  places  with  The  Daughter  of 
the  Regiment,  A  Hundred  Thousand  Pounds  and  Hamlet. 
Occasionally  leading  performers  like  Toole  and  Sothern 
came  and  brought  a  new  piece  for  trial,  filling  in  the 
smaller  parts  from  the  local  company.  A  very  unequal 
and  slovenly  performance  except  in  the  leading  parts, 
was  generally  the  result. 

The  scenery  and  /urniture  were  atrociously  bad.  A 
shabby  orange-coloured  chamber  nightly  challenged 
every  law  of  architecture,  decoration,  and  archaeology  ; 
brazenly  pretending  to  be  a  mid-Victorian  parlour  to- 
night, while  last  evening  it  had  claimed  to  be  Joseph 
Surface's  library,  and  the  night  before  it  had  ambitiously 
posed  as  Portia's  palace.  A  kitchen  scene  played  much 
the  same  pranks  with  architectural  possibility  and 
human  credulity ;  while  the  Forest  of  Arden  might  per- 
haps have  passed  muster  as  the  ramparts  of  Elsinore  if 
it  had  not  been  unblushingly  announced  the  week  before 
as  the  "  Exterior  of  a  Cottage  at  Clapham  ;"  at  the  same 
time  showing  a  background  of  wonderful  rocky  sea 
ravine  such  as  no  Rosalind  nor  any  maiden  of  South 
London  has  ever  gazed  upon. 

No  performance  of  any  striking  merit  stands  out  in 
my  provincial  remembrances  apart  from  the  occasional 
visits  of  London  performers.  Already  the  stock  com- 
pany was  doomed.  Travelling  companies  playing  the 
Robertson  comedies  of  Caste,  School,  and  Ours,  had 
lately  visited  the  leading  towns,  and  it  soon  became 
evident  that  this  was  to  be  the  coming  form  of  organiza- 
tion for  the  drama  in  the  provinces.     From  that  time  to 

Q 


226    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

this  the  provincial  stock  companies  have  dwindled  in 
numbers,  importance,  and  ability,  as  the  travelling  com- 
panies have  correspondingly  increased  in  the  same 
respects  till  they  have  virtually  taken  possession  of  the 
whole  field.  Many  tears  are  continually  shed  over  the 
decease  of  the  stock  provincial  company  ;  many  cries  are 
continually  raised  for  its  resurrection.  There  are  good 
reasons  for  lamenting  it  ;  there  are  good  reasons  for 
wishing  its  restoration — if  that  were  possible.  But  in 
considering  the  future  of  the  drama  in  the  provinces,  the 
wiser  plan  is  plainly  to  recognize  that  the  old  form  of 
provincial  stock  company  is  dead.  Killing  Time  has 
glared  upon  it,  and  it  lies  a  veritable  corpse  before  our 
eyes. 

A  very  interesting  correspondence  concerning  the 
provincial  drama  appeared  last  summer  in  the  pages  of 
the  weekly  newspaper.  The  Clarion.  Mr.  William  Archer, 
Mr.  Courtneidge  (the  manager  of  the  two  leading 
Manchester  theatres),  Mr.  Thompson  (the  critic  of  The 
Clarion),  Mr.  George  Bernard  Shaw,  and  many  others, 
continued  the  discussion  for  several  weeks.  Much  truth 
was  raked  out,  many  complaints  were  made,  some 
suggestions  were  started,  and  nothing  was  done. 

The  general  situation  was  well  described  by  Mr. 
Courtneidge  in  a  very  able  letter,  showing  great  know- 
ledge of  the  subject,  great  enthusiasm  for  the  drama,  and 
a  willingness  to  join  in  any  practical  scheme  for  its 
betterment.  To  put  the  matter  as  briefly  as  possible, 
the  main  facts  are  as  follows  : — 

The  first  thing  to  note  in  the  situation  is  the  great 
and  continued  increase  of  country  people  who  constantly 
visit  London.  Not  only  our  leading  families,  not  only 
the  professional  classes,  but  almost  every  tradesman 
goes  up  to  London  every  year,  for  periods  varying  from 
some  days  to  some  months.  This  means  that  English 
playgoing  has  become  largely  centralized  in  London. 
Our  long  runs  in  town  are  largely  supported  by  the 
constant  flux  of  country  visitors.      Country  people  do 


DRAMA  IN  ENGLISH   PROVINCES   IN  1900    227 

most  of  their  playgoing  in  London,  and  tend  to  have 
their  tastes  and  judgments  formed  by  London  standards. 
The  plays  that  obtain  sufficient  success  in  London  to  be 
sent  into  the  country  have  been  already  seen  in  their 
best  presentment  by  most  of  the  regular  provincial  play- 
goers. And  unless  a  play  has  some  feature  of  absorbing 
interest,  it  is  rarely  visited  in  the  country  by  those  who 
have  already  seen  it  in  London  to  better  advantage,  or 
what  they  suppose  to  be  better  advantage. 

The  large  towns,  eight  or  ten  in  number,  are  visited 
nearly  every  year  by  some  of  the  leading  London 
managers — Irving,  Tree,  Alexander,  Hare,  the  Kendals, 
the  Cyril  Maudes,  and  others.  These  leading  managers 
take  their  London  productions  and  their  London  per- 
formers— at  any  rate  in  the  leading  parts.  There  is 
generally  a  little  reduction  in  the  salary  lists,  a  little 
weakening  of  the  London  cast,  but  the  performance  is 
not  markedly  inferior  to  the  one  given  in  town. 

These  visits  of  the  leading  actors  are  almost  always 
crowded,  and  bring  a  very  substantial  profit  to  both 
London  and  local  manager.  And  these  few  weeks,  at 
most  some  six  or  eight  in  the  autumn,  are  almost  the 
only  profitable  ones  in  the  whole  year  for  our  leading 
country  managers — apart  from  pantomime  and  musical 
comedy.  There  is  perhaps  a  chance  successful  week  or 
so  of  a  London  success,  a  popular  melodrama,  or  an 
extraordinary  farce  like  Charley's  Aunt 

It  is  not  worth  while  to  quibble  about  words,  but 
these  visits  of  London  managers  can  hardly  be  counted 
as  the  provincial  drama.  When  the  whole  cast  and 
scenery  of  the  Lyceum  or  Her  Majesty's  are  taken  to  the 
Theatre  Royal,  Manchester,  it  is  virtually  London  play- 
going  that  is  being  done  in  Manchester. 

The  annual  pantomime,  extending  from  Christmas  to 
some  time  in  February  according  to  the  degree  in  which 
it  hits  local  taste,  is  the  country  manager's  sheet-anchor. 
It  is  generally  a  formless  perversion  of  a  fairy  tale  with 
the  latest  popular  music-hall  songs  introduced  ;  it  often 


228    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

gives  great  scope  to  singers,  dancers,  and  variety  per- 
formers to  show  cleverness  in  their  different  ways.  It 
is  lavishly  and  generously  mounted,  but  in  some  crying 
form  of  tawdry  bad  taste.  It  certainly  amuses  the  hard- 
worked  populations  of  our  large  towns,  and  is  usually  as 
free  from  any  outrageous  impropriety  as  it  is  from  any 
pretence  to  intellectual  effort,  either  in  the  writing  or 
acting.  It  cannot  be  considered  as  drama ;  it  has  no 
relation  to  drama,  and  its  structure  seems  to  grow  more 
formless  each  year.  But  without  the  profits  brought  in 
by  this  annual  pantomime  more  than  half  our  provincial 
theatres  would  have  to  close  in  bankruptcy.  The  local 
pantomimes  are  largely  attended  by  all  classes  of  play- 
goers, even  those  who  rarely  go  into  the  local  theatre  at 
other  times. 

After  the  few  weeks  of  the  London  managers,  and 
the  pantomimes,  those  devoted  to  musical  comedy  are 
the  most  profitable.  Very  large  sums  are  taken  by 
musical  comedies,  which  seem  to  succeed  in  proportion 
as  they  make  no  demands  upon  the  intelligence  or 
emotions  of  the  spectator.  The  ^musical  comedies  are 
supported  by  the  same  artists  who  play  in  the  panto- 
mimes, and  very  often  the  same  songs  and  catchwords 
and  antics  are  introduced.  The  whole  entertainment  is 
of  the  same  order  as  the  local  pantomime,  appeals  to  the 
same  tastes,  and  meets  the  same  widespread  demand  for 
entertainment  outside  the  drama.  It  affords  clever 
singers  and  dancers  the  means  of  displaying  their  art, 
and  gives  opportunities  for  much  buffoonery  to  the 
comedians.  But,  again,  it  cannot  be  said  to  have  any 
connection  with  the  drama.  It  is  entertainment  pure 
and  simple.  It  succeeds  because  it  lacks  the  first 
essential  quality  of  drama — that  of  painting  humanity. 
It  exists  not  to  show  life,  but  to  make  the  spectators 
forget  life. 

Outside  the  upper,  professional,  and  middle  classes 
who  constantly  visit  London,  there  are  vast  crowds  of 
the  lower  classes  who  remain  all  the  year  in  the  large 


DRAMA  IN  ENGLISH  PROVINCES  IN   1900    229 

towns  and  who  have  a  rough  uncultivated  love  for  the 
drama.  Melodrama,  therefore,  still  fitfully  flourishes  in 
the  provinces,  chiefly  in  the  second  or  third  class 
theatres.  Considerable  fortunes  have  been  made,  I  be- 
lieve, by  pieces  which  have  never  been  heard  of  in 
London ;  while  some  old  London  successes  still  make 
profitable  appeals  to  simple  country  audiences  in  the  pit 
and  gallery.  But  melodrama  is  apparently  dead  in 
London  ;  and  there  is  no  very  hopeful  outlook  for  it  in 
the  provinces. 

There  is  still  perhaps  a  considerable  future  for  gospel 
drama  in  the  provinces.  Many  years  ago  I  pointed 
out  that  a  huge  fortune  was  waiting  for  anyone  who 
would  teach  the  British  public  to  save  their  souls  by  the 
help  of  religious  drama,  instead  of  by  religious  stories. 
I  did  not  misjudge  my  countrymen.  The  general  level 
of  intelligence  and  education  amongst  our  populace; 
their  confused  training  in  religion  and  their  comparative 
lack  of  training  in  the  drama,  render  vast  numbers  of 
them  easy  and  defenceless  victims  to  what  may  be  called 
the  Have-yon-fonnd-Jesus  type  of  play — a  treacly  mixture 
of  salvation  and  theatrical  enjoyment.  And  clergymen, 
who  are  sometimes  judges  of  religion,  but  are  rarely 
judges  of  the  drama,  seem  always  ready  to  recommend 
to  their  flocks,  and  to  advertise  as  a  masterpiece  any 
pretentious  blend  of  religious  and  dramatic  bathos. 

Now  art  is  never  more  nobly  employed  and  more 
plenarily  inspired  than  when  she  is  working  in  the 
service  of  religion.  And  religion  is  never  more  grace- 
fully employed  than  when  she  is  patronizing  art.  A 
religious  play  is  the  highest  type  of  play  that  can  be 
written.  I  mean  a  play  written  from  the  inside,  in  an  age 
of  faith,  by  an  inspired  believer,  who  is  also  an  artist. 
Such  a  play  is  Everyman..  Such  a  play,  however,  could 
scarcely  be  written  to-day  in  England.  The  whole 
current  of  modern  thought  almost  forbids  a  dramatist  of 
serious  pretentions  to  deal  sincerely  with  religious 
matters   and   persons   from   any  other   than   a  critical 


230    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

detached,  outside  point  of  view.  He  may  indeed  deal 
with  them  in  perfect  sympathy,  or  allow  them  to  paint 
themselves  from  their  own  point  of  view ;  but  this  will 
not  make  a  religious  play,  but  only  a  play  that  looks 
out  upon  religion. 

Now  the  Have-y oil- found- Jesus  type  of  play  does  pose 
as  a  religious  play,  and  does  pretend  to  offer  rapid  and 
easy  salvation  on  the  spot  to  playgoers ;  and  it  wins 
popularity  and  success  on  that  account.  It  is  vicious 
because  it  fosters  the  idea  that  moral  and  spiritual  re- 
formation can  be  cheaply  and  suddenly  won  by  excite- 
ment in  a  theatre,  instead  of  by  a  severe  struggle 
amongst  the  duties  and  temptations  of  life. 

The  Have-yoii-fouhid-J csits  type  of  play  has  no  hope 
of  gaining  any  great  or  lasting  success  with  London 
playgoers.  But  in  the  provinces  for  a  long  time  to  come 
there  will  doubtless  be  rich  veins  of  superstition  and 
ignorance  and  fear  waiting  to  be  worked  by  any  play- 
wright who  cares  to  grub  in  that  soil.  While  America 
seems  to  offer  a  boundlessly  fertile  soil  for  the  pro- 
duction of  the  Havc-you-found-J esiis  type  of  play.  But 
whether  this  is  due  to  the  fact  that  American  playgoers 
feel  themselves  to  be  more  in  need  of  salvation  than 
English  playgoers ;  or  whether  the  hurry  of  national 
life  in  America  makes  them  more  responsive  to  shortcut 
methods  of  obtaining  salvation,  I  cannot  say.  It  is  a 
country  for  quick  lunches. 

The  way  to  test  the  real  value  of  any  Have-you-found- 
Jesus  play  is  to  read  it  carefully  after  having  seen  it 
successfully  performed  on  the  stage. 

Apart  from  the  forms  of  theatrical  entertainment 
which  I  have  hastily  run  through,  there  are  one  or  two 
companies  playing  a  repertory  of  Shakespeare  and  the 
old  comedies.  Mr.  Benson  has  made  gallant  and 
successful  efforts  for  Shakespeare  and  the  old  comedies 
in  all  our  provincial  towns ;  and  Mr.  Ben  Greet  has  also 
deservedly  gained  a  high  reputation  in  a  like  enterprise. 
Both  have  offered  a  valuable  training  school  for  recruits, 


DRAMA  IN   ENGLISH  PROVINCES  IN  1900    231 

and  both  have  given  performers  of  marked  ability  to 
the  London  stage. 

Lastly,  there  are  the  companies  that  are  organized 
and  drilled  in  London  to  go  out  and  play  exclusively  one 
of  the  latest  successes  produced  at  such  London  theatres 
as  Wyndham's,  the  St.  James's,  the  Haymarket,  the 
Garrick,  and  the  Criterion.  They  meet  v^^ith  varied 
success.  A  piece  that  wins  a  great  London  success  is 
almost  sure  to  have  some  vogue,  and  to  make  some 
money  in  the  provinces.  But,  as  a  rule,  unless  a  piece 
is  a  great  success  in  London,  it  will  almost  certainly  lose 
money  in  the  provinces.  For  a  piece  of  this  kind  needs 
finished  acting  for  its  adequate  representation,  and  this 
under  the  present  circumstances  of  our  stage  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  get  in  the  provinces.  As  soon  as  an  actor 
obtains  any  reputation  he  tries  to  get  a  London  engage- 
ment, and  will  not  go  into  the  provinces  except  under 
necessity. 

I  have  now  given  a  hasty  bird's-eye  view  of  the  drama 
in  the  English  provinces.  I  have  purposely  omitted  the 
leading  factor  in  the  whole  situation.  The  chief  thing 
to  take  into  account  is  the  recent  erection  everywhere 
of  huge  music-halls,  which  have  gained  popularity  and 
pecuniary  success  as  the  theatres  have  declined.  Many 
of  the  performers  at  the  music-halls  are  those  who 
appear  in  pantomime  and  musical  comedies ;  and  while 
the  more  popular  entertainments  at  the  theatres  have 
gradually  become  more  and  more  like  the  entertainments 
at  a  music-hall,  the  entertainments  at  the  music-hall 
have  included  short  sketches,  plays,  and  duologues, 
and  in  this  respect  have  made  approaches  towards  the 
drama. 

Leaving  out  this  dominant  factor  of  the  situation, 
which  I  shall  deal  with  by-and-by,  we  may  proceed  to 
sum  up  the  drama's  gains  and  losses  in  the  English 
provinces  during  the  past  generation. 

We  have  almost  lost  the  art  of  representing  our 
great  national  masterpieces.     The  absence  of  schools  of 


232     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

training  and  practice  has  left  our  actors  with  a  slovenly 
amateurish  elocution,  and  a  want  of  method  and  sustained 
power  to  grapple  with  great  parts  in  such  a  way  as  to 
make  them  interesting  or  even  credible  to  an  audience. 
A  generation  or  two  ago,  many  of  our  provincial  com- 
panies could  have  given  at  short  notice  a  better  all-round 
representation  of  most  of  Shakespeare's  plays  than  could 
be  possibly  obtained  to-day,  with  all  our  London  per- 
formers to  choose  from.  Correlatively,  our  provincial 
audiences  have  lost  all  care  for  their  local  theatre  as 
an  institution  of  their  own,  all  pride  in  their  favourite 
local  performers;  and  I  believe  (though  I  should  be 
glad  to  find  myself  refuted),  nearly  all  enthusiasm 
for  Shakespeare  and  a  high  level  of  poetic  acting  have 
evaporated.  So  much  for  the  poetic  drama  in  the 
provinces. 

On  turning  to  the  drama  of  modern  English  life,  I 
think  we  may,  on  the  whole,  claim  to  have  made  a  distinct 
advance  all  round.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  to-day 
there  are,  and  can  be,  only  two  leading  branches  of 
English  drama — our  great  poetic  drama,  and  the  serious, 
and  so  far  as  may  be  realistic,  comedy  or  drama  of 
modern  life.  By  "serious"  1  do  not  mean  "dull" — I 
use  the  word  as  opposed  to  burlesque,  and  all  irrational 
and  nondescript  forms  of  theatrical  entertainment.  There 
are,  of  course,  large  delightful  realms  of  farce  and  fantasy 
and  burlesque  which  may  well  furnish  genuine  examples 
of  dramatic  art;  but  farce,  burlesque,  and  fantasy  can 
only  flourish  as  auxiliary  and  supplementary  forms ; 
they  can  never  be  the  body  of  a  national  drama. 

These  two  main  branches  of  modern  and  poetic 
drama  are  distinct  arts.  They  do  not  make  the  same 
demands  on  the  performer;  and  it  is  rare,  almost  im- 
possible in  England,  to  find  an  actor  or  an  actress  who 
excels,  or  who  is  even  passably  capable  in  both.  In 
France,  where  the  actor's  training  is  more  thorough  and 
comprehensive,  many  of  the  leading  performers  are 
equally  at  home  in  poetic  and  modern  drama. 


DRAMA  IN  ENGLISH  PROVINCES  IN   1900    233 

To  return.  If  in  the  provinces  we  have  had  a  very 
heavy  loss  approaching  to  bankruptcy  in  the  poetic 
drama,  I  think  we  can  claim  a  modest  and  growing 
profit  in  many  items  on  the  modern  side.  It  is  very 
small  and  precarious,  no  doubt,  but  I  believe  there  is 
a  distinct  gain. 

To  begin  with  the  acting.  Doubtless  we  cannot 
count  so  many  good  performers  in  scenes  of  rough 
pathos  and  broad  comedy,  but  as  the  future  advance 
of  our  drama  does  not  lie  in  those  directions,  this  is 
no  great  loss.  We  have  many  more,  and  many  better 
actors  who  can  interpret  scenes  that  need  subtlety 
and  refinement;  parts  that  need  exact  and  definite 
characterization ;  who  can  deliver  ordinary  modern 
dialogue  with  some  naturalness  and  point,  and  whose 
general  behaviour  and  manner  of  speaking  in  a  drawing- 
room  are  not  modelled  on  those  of  the  old  Adelphi 
guests. 

In  general  cultivation  and  intelligence,  in  manners 
and  bearing,  our  present  race  of  young  actors  is  out  of 
all  measure  superior  to  that  of  last  generation.  All 
duly  qualified  students  of  human  stupidity  will  surely 
pronounce  that  the  stupidity  of  the  old  actor,  the 
actor  who  "knows  his  business"  and  knows  nothing 
else,  is  the  most  exasperating  and  malignant  form 
of  the  perennial  malady  of  our  race.  A  young 
Englishman  fresh  from  Oxford  or  Cambridge  is  much 
pleasanter  and  more  ductile  material  for  an  author 
and  stage  manager  to  handle  than  the  old  actor 
of  last  generation.  I  think  the  ensemble  of  a  pro- 
vincial performance  by  what  is  called  the  No.  i 
Company  of  a  London  comedy  success  would  place 
in  a  very  unfavourable  light  any  representatior  of  a 
modern  drama  or  comedy  by  a  provincial  stock  com- 
pany of  the  last  generation,  could  they  be  simultane- 
ously compared. 

With  regard  to  mounting  and  mise-en-scene,  we  may 
claim  an  immense  improvement  over  the  productions 


234    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

of  last  generation.  In  place  of  the  ludicrously  inappro- 
priate scenery  I  have  described,  and  which  had  to  do 
duty  for  all  the  various  productions  of  the  season,  our 
best  travelling  companies  take  their  own  scenery  with 
them  from  town  to  town.  And  this  scenery  is  in  most 
cases  a  copy  of  the  London  production,  made  specially 
strong  to  withstand  the  wear  and  tear.  Again,  in  the 
matter  of  costume,  the  dresses  are  usually  copies  of  the 
London  production.  In  modern  comedies  the  ladies' 
dresses  for  the  No.  i  companies  are  often  made  to'fit 
the  performers  by  the  same  fashionable  dressmakers 
who  made  the  original  dresses.  The  wardrobe  of  a 
provincial  theatre  a  generation  ago  was  a  mere  store- 
house of  dirty  and  tawdry  incongruities  that  were 
equally  ready  at  all  times  to  misfit  all  plays  and  per- 
formers, and  to  assist  the  scenery  in  quaintly  confound- 
ing chronology  and  destroying  illusion.  The  mechanical 
appliances  in  all  leading  provincial  theatres  have  also 
been  wonderfully  developed,  multiplied,  and  improved 
during  the  same  time.  On  all  these  counts  we  score 
considerable  gains. 

It  is  true  that  the  supply  of  competent  actors  and 
actresses  for  the  provincial  companies  is  still  lamentably 
deficient.  This  is  accounted  for  by  the  unwillingness 
of  performers  of  any  repute  to  leave  London,  and  by  the 
absence  of  any  opportunity  of  practice^and  training  for 
our  recruits.  If  I  am  able  to  claim  that  our  leading 
provincial  companies  give  a  tolerable  representation 
of  a  modern  comedy,  it  is  not  because  many  of  the 
performers  know  how  to  act,  but  because  most  of  them 
are  simply  playing  themselves.  Our  modern  English 
drama  is  realistic  and  individualistic,  not  classic  and 
declamatory.  Now,  granted  a  good  original  performance 
of  a  play  in  London,  and  a  crowd  of  untrained  raw 
provincial  performers,  the  task  is  to  pick  out  of  these 
hundreds  of  aspirants  just  those  who  have  some  little 
experience  and  natural  capacity;  and  whose  figure, 
manner,   and  general    bearing  most  nearly  agree  with 


DRAMA  IN  ENGLISH   PROVINCES   IN   1900    235 

the  respective  characters  of  the  play.  We  then  set 
them  to  watch  the  London  performance  and,  so  far  as 
they  can,  to  reproduce  it.  By  this  means  we  can 
generally  secure  a  tolerable,  if  amateurish,  representa- 
tion for  the  country  tour.  And  I  think  that  in  this  way 
the  provincial  public  is  better  served  to-day  with  regard 
to  modern  plays  than  it  was  served  under  the  old  stock 
company  system. 

But  it  is  a  bad  system  for  the  actor :  it  keeps  him 
wooden  and  inflexible;  it  deadens  his  sense,  his  en- 
thusiasm, and  his  talent;  it  leaves  him  an  amateur  to 
the  end  of  his  days.  I  recently  heard  of  a  young  man 
who  took  lessons  for  a  year  in  elocution ;  he  then 
obtained  a  small  part  in  a  provincial  company.  This 
he  played  for  another  year  ;  he  then  shifted  and  obtained 
another  small  part,  which  I  believe  he  is  still  playing. 
And  this  is  typical  of  what  is  taking  place  everywhere 
amongst  all  our  young  actors  and  actresses.  This  is 
our  present  system  for  teaching  one  of  the  subtlest, 
most  intellectual,  and  most  difficult  of  arts.  Compare 
the  case  I  have  mentioned  with  the  average  case  of  the 
young  actor  who  entered  the  profession  thirty  or  forty 
years  ago,  and  constantly  had  to  play  a  dozen  diff'erent 
parts  a  week. 

This,  then,  is  the  crying  evil  to  be  remedied.  Both 
Mr.  Courtneidge  as  manager,  and  Mr.  Thompson  as 
critic,  struck  their  finger  on  the  place  in  calling  out 
for  some  school  of  training  and  practice  for  our  young 
generation  of  actors.  They  did  indeed  also  lament  the 
present  dearth  of  new  plays,  and  the  absence  of  any 
school  of  practice  for  young  playwrights.  But  this  is 
a  far  wider  question,  and  is  not  merely  a  provincial 
matter.  It  is  indeed  the  most  vital  question  that  can 
be  raised  in  respect  of  our  national  drama ;  but  it  would 
be  out  of  place  to  deal  with  it  here. 

But  the  absence  of  a  school  training  for  actors  and 
actresses  may  perhaps  be  considered  as  having  a  direct 
concern   with   the    provincial   drama,   since,   until    the 


236    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

present  generation,  the  provinces  have  always  been  the 
recognized  training-ground  for  London. 

Mr,  Courtneidge,  who  has  the  double  advantage  ot 
having  been  an  actor  trained  in  the  old  school,  and  of 
being  a  manager  in  the  present  school,  formulates  the 
outline  of  a  scheme  for  a  stock  company  to  visit  the 
leading  towns,  and  to  be  established  and  supported 
by  our  leading  provincial  managers.  If  such  an  organi- 
zation could  be  formed,  I  think  it  might  be  of  great 
service  and  influence,  as  indeed  must  be  any  well-trained 
company  performing  intellectual  plays.  He  proposes 
that  this  stock  company  should  stay  several  weeks  in 
each  of  the  large  towns,  and  play  a  repertory  of  old  and 
new  plays.  I  think  there  might  be  room  for  such  a 
company,  and  if  it  were  well  trained  and  directed,  it 
could,  I  think,  be  made  to  pay.  But  the  scheme  seems 
to  be  attended  with  many  difficulties,  and  I  question 
whether  it  would  altogether  meet  our  crying  demand — 
that  is,  for  a  school  of  constant  practice  before  the  public 
for  our  young  untrained  actors. 

I  do  not  see  how  Mr.  Courtneidge's  proposal  can 
be  made  to  fit  in  with  present  conditions  and  tendencies. 
What  place  in  such  a  scheme  would  be  taken  by 
the  last  new  play  by  a  recognized  dramatist  ?  For 
it  is  always  the  latest  London  success  that  governs 
the  situation  in  the  provinces  so  far  as  plays  are 
concerned. 

If  the  provincial  playgoing  public  could  be  induced 
to  come  and  see  a  modern  comedy  with  half  the  zest 
and  in  half  the  numbers  that  they  flock  to  a  pantomime 
or  a  musical  comedy,  we  might,  by  raising  salaries, 
induce  better  London  actors  to  come  into  the  provinces 
in  the  smaller  parts,  and  thus  give  an  all-round  per- 
formance that  should  be  in  no  wise  inferior  to  the 
London  one.  I  wish  provincial  playgoers  could  be 
brought  to  believe  that  a  country  performance  by 
carefully  selected  performers  may  be  as  well  worth 
seeing  as  the  more  highly  favoured  London  production. 


DRAMA  IN  ENGLISH  PROVINCES  IN  1900    237 

Something,  perhaps,  may  be  done  to  form  a  school 
of  public  practice  for  young  actors,  by  fostering  the 
growth  of  under-companies  in  connection  with  some 
of  our  theatres,  both  in  the  provinces  and  in  London. 

I  venture  to  give  a  rough  outline  of  what  seems  to 
me  a  feasible  and  comparatively  inexpensive  plan.^  It 
should,  however,  be  first  tried  in  London,  and  if  found 
successful  there,  it  could  be  adapted  to  our  large  towns. 
There  are  always  a  large  number  of  aspirants  to  the 
stage  of  both  sexes.  A  competent  stage  manager  and 
teacher  of  elocution  should  be  appointed  and  well  paid 
by  the  leading  London  managers  and  authors  to  examine 
the  qualifications  of  all  who  care  to  present  themselves 
for  stage  tuition.  Many  aspirants  would  be  weeded 
out  in  the  earlier  trials  while  the  doubtful  ones  would 
be  held  in  suspense  for  future  probation.  Rehearsals 
of  standard  poetic  and  modern  plays  should  be  relent- 
lessly and  vigorously  pursued  with  these  raw  amateurs, 
either  at  some  theatre  not  temporarily  occupied,  or  by 
turns  at  our  regular  theatres.  One  of  the  more  lowly 
rented  theatres  should  be  taken,  as  it  could,  for  a  com- 
paratively small  sum,  and  bi-weekly  or  tri-weekly  morn- 
ing performances  should  be  given  with  a  free  entrance 
to  the  public  to  the  cheaper  parts.  Low  prices  might  be 
charged  for  admission  to  the  better  parts  in  order  to 
help  towards  the  expenses.  But  the  tuition  should  be 
free,  and  there  should,  of  course,  be  no  salary  to  the 
actor.  From  the  great  number  of  aspirants  presenting 
themselves,  we  might  hope  to  get  a  fairly  high  level  of 
raw  talent.  Aspirants  should  be  allowed  two  or  three 
trials  before  they  were  finally  dismissed  as  incapable, 
or  accepted  as  students.  Being  accepted,  they  should 
then  be  called  upon  to  sign  an  undertaking  to  undergo 
a  certain  course  of  study,  and  in  return  for  their  training, 

^  In  the  former'paper,  *'  The  English  National  Theatre,"  I  have  sug- 
gested that  this  scheme,  or  some  modification  of  it,  should  be  adopted 
by  the  promoters  of  the  Shakespeare  Memorial  Theatre  in  their  present 
circumstances  (see  p.  132). 


238    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

the  institution  would  take  a  percentage  of  their  salary 
during  the  first  years  of  their  engagement  on  the 
regular  stage.  This  latter  clause  should  be  made 
very  stringent,  and  all  London  and  country  managers 
would  be  expected  to  co-operate  with  the  institution  in 
working  it  so  that  the  scheme  might  tend  to  become 
self-supporting.  The  payments  of  the  public  to  the 
better  places  in  the  house  would  also  contribute  to  the 
same  end.  But  we  could  not  hope  that  the  school  would 
defray  its  expenses  for  many  years  to  come.  It  would 
have  to  be  cordially  and  unreservedly  supported  by  our 
leading  London  managers,  actors,  and  authors.  Our 
leading  actors  might  be  asked  to  attend  rehearsals,  and 
occasionally  to  give  lessons.  The  managers  might  be 
asked  to  lend  appropriate  scenery,  and  authors  might 
be  asked  to  place  some  of  their  older  and  better  known 
plays  at  the  disposal  of  the  institution.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  the  initial  expenses  would  be  considerable, 
and  that  there  must  be  a  constant  outlay  for  some  years 
to  come.  But  I  think  we  should  all  find  ourselves 
amply  repaid  in  time  by  the  number  of  fresh  recruits 
that  would  thus  be  brought  to  our  aid.  The  matinees 
should  be  given  on  days  that  do  not  interfere  with  the 
ordinary  theatre  matinee.  The  scheme  should  be  made 
thoroughly  known,  so  that  public  interest  might  be 
roused  and  sustained  in  it.  And  doubtless,  if  it  could 
once  be  started,  and  a  fair  level  of  efficiency  attained, 
a  good  audience  might  be  expected  on  each  occasion. 
The  ordinary  public  should  be  admitted  free,  or  at 
quite  nominal  prices,  due  care  being  taken  to  exclude 
constant  loafers.  Of  course  our  recruits  would  have  to 
live  while  they  were  learning  their  business,  but  so  does 
a  young  man  who  gives  four  or  five  years  of  his  life  to 
learn  the  far  easier  craft  of  carpentry.  And  the  fact 
that  they  were  associated  with  the  school  ought  to 
give  them  the  first  call  on  managers  for  the  parts  of 
supernumeraries  and  small  parts  at  our  regular  theatres. 
The  scheme  could  not  be  put  on  its  legs  without  the 


DRAMA  IN  ENGLISH   PROVINCES  IN   1900    239 

cordial  co-operation  of  all  our  managers,  and  without  a 
handsome  subscription  to  start  with.  But  the  sum  to 
be  provided  would  be  a  mere  nothing  compared  with 
that  required  to  endow  a  national  theatre ;  while,  if  the 
scheme  should  be  found  to  work,  the  more  ambitious 
undertaking  might  be  grafted  upon  it.  If  my  plan 
should  be  thought  worth  consideration,  it  might  at  first 
be  taken  in  hand  and  hammered  into  shape  by  a  small 
committee  of  experts.  These  should  appoint  a  general 
manager  to  work  incessantly  and  exclusively  to  carry 
out  the  details  of  the  scheme.  Rehearsals  should  be 
conducted  with  the  driving  insistence  of  a  drill-sergeant. 
There  could  be  no  hope  of  carrying  the  thing  further 
towards  success  without  a  resolute,  capable,  and  clear- 
sighted organizer.  And  where  is  such  a  man  to  be 
found  ?  Provided  we  could  lay  hands  on  him  and  make 
his  position  permanent,  profitable,  and  honourable,  I 
think  some  good  might  come  of  my  suggestion.  But, 
I  throw  it  out  with  great  diffidence,  and  only  in  the 
absence  of  any  alternative  scheme  for  meeting  our  most 
crying  need — a  training  school  for  young  actors  where 
they  can  constantly  appear  before  the  public. 

The  scheme  is,  I  think,  more  suitable  to  London  than 
the  provinces,  but  it  could  be  tried  in  each  of  our  larger 
towns.  What  a  chance  for  a  millionaire-philanthropist 
to  provide  the  necessary  expenses,  either  in  London,  or 
in  his  native  Manchester  or  Birmingham  ! 

But  millionaire-philanthropists  are  shy  in  coming  to 
the  aid  of  the  drama,  and  prefer  to  make  selfish  invest- 
ments for  eternity  in  another  class  of  spiritual  security. 
Yet  I  know  of  no  way  in  which  a  wealthy  man  could 
better  serve  his  fellow-Englishmen  and  win  a  lasting 
renown  for  himself,  than  by  helping  to  raise  this  fine 
and  beautiful  art,  which,  however  disabled  and  dis- 
organized it  may  be  to-day,  is  yet  the  prime  glory  of 
England  in  her  glorious  prime,  and  is  not  so  atrophied 
and  supine  but  that  it  may  revive  to  add  another  glory 
to  a  greater  England. 


240    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

We  must  not  at  present  expect  any  aid  from  muni- 
cipalities as  a  body,  but  perhaps  some  day  it  may  dawn 
even  upon  town  councillors  that  to  encourage  this  most 
human,  civilizing,  and  in  the  highest  sense  educational 
art,  should  be  as  much  the  business  and  the  ambition  of 
an  elected  citizen  as  to  lay  down  drains  and  build  gas- 
works. Meantime,  perhaps,  provincial  mayors  may  be 
entreated  to  give  what  encouragement  they  can  to  the 
art  of  the  drama  as  separate  from  popular  amusement. 

Finally  we  are  brought  round  again  to  the  central 
fact  which  meets  us  and  blocks  the  way  in  every  argu- 
ment and  discussion  about  the  English  drama.  Take 
up  what  side  of  the  subject  we  may,  approach  it  from 
any  point  of  view,  we  are  quickly  brought  face  to  face 
with  this  main  truth,  that  in  England  the  art  of  the 
drama  only  exists  as  the  parasite  and  hanger-on  of 
popular  amusement.  The  form  of  theatrical  entertain- 
ment most  fashionable  and  most  successful  in  England 
to-day  is  utterly  opposed  to  the  primary  object  of 
dramtic  art — that  is,  to  represent  life.  This  is  not  to 
condemn  it ;  it  is  only  to  classify  it.  Looking  at  the 
dreary  lives  of  our  millions  of  toilers,  and  the  more 
dreary  lives  of  our  millions  of  suburban  residents,  who 
would  wish  to  deprive  them  of  a  bright,  harmless,  care- 
less evening  hour  ?  Who  would  be  so  churlish  ?  Who 
would  be  so  foolish  ?  And  nothing  can  be  more 
gratifying  than  the  marked  improvement  that  has 
everywhere  taken  place  in  the  music-hall  entertain- 
ments, and  to  which  I  readily  and  gladly  testify. 

But  the  mischief  is  that  English  drama  is  mainly 
judged  by  the  test  of  instant  popular  amusement,  and 
of  course  rarely  and  hardly  survives  that  test.  Popular 
amusement  everywhere  escapes  condemnation  and 
ensures  good-will  because  it  frankly  pretends  only  to 
amuse.  The  drama  is  liable  to  condemnation  from  both 
sides  ;  either  because  it  does  not  instantly  and  thought- 
lessly amuse,  which  perhaps  it  did  not  set  out  to  do;  or 
because,  pretending  to  be  a  work  of  art,  it  stoops  to  try 


DRAMA  IN   ENGLISH  PROVINCES  IN   1900    241 

and  amuse.  And  between  these  upper  and  nether  mill- 
stones it  is  ground  to  death.  The  remedy  is  to  separate 
English  drama  from  popular  amusement,  and  to  ensure 
that  each  shall  be  judged  by  its  respective  and  appro- 
priate standards.  Does  this  sound  like  an  invitation  to 
playgoers  to  come  and  be  bored  ?  It  is  not  that.  Look, 
again,  at  the  population  of  our  great  cities — let  any 
Londoner  take  a  journey  to  any  suburb  and  survey  the 
land  and  its  inhabitants — what  fitting  punishment  should 
be  meted  out  to  the  man  who  with  superfluous  malice 
sets  out  to  plaster  that  dullness  with  a  duller  dull- 
ness, and  daub  that  drabness  with  a  dowdier  drab? 
Who  would  be  so  churlish?  Who  would  be  so 
foolish  ? 

No,  this  is  not  an  invitation  to  English  playgoers 
to  make  their  theatres  places  of  boredom.  It  is  an 
invitation  to  them  to  make  them  places  of  rational  and 
cultivated  delight. 


R 


XV 

RECENT  DEVELOPMENTS  OF  THE  DRAMA  IN  THE  ENGLISH 
PROVINCES 

September,  191 2. 

The  drama  in  the  English  provinces  has  undergone 
some  notable  changes  in  the  twelve  years  that  have 
passed  since  the  preceding  article  was  written.  The 
regular  theatres  have  suffered  badly  from  the  com- 
petition of  the  music  halls.  Many  of  them  seem  to 
have  lost  all  hold  on  their  public  and  to  have  barely 
survived;  others  have  been  cleaned  and  brightened  and 
turned  into  music  halls.  The  current  London  successes 
are  still  sent  into  the  provinces,  and  are  played  by 
companies  organized  and  rehearsed  in  London.  But 
the  period  has  been  one  of  huge  prosperity  for  music 
halls,  which  have  gradually  asserted  their  right  to 
include  in  their  programme  plays  and  scenes  from 
plays  of  whatever  length  and  quality  may  attract  the 
public.  The  old  senseless  restrictions  and  barriers  are 
everywhere  being  broken  down,  and  both  in  London 
and  the  provinces  the  music  halls  and  theatres  are 
being  merged  into  each  other.  In  all  the  large  towns 
a  considerable  part  of  the  programme  in  every  music 
hall  is  set  apart  for  some  form  of  drama.  As  was 
foreseen  a  noticeable  and  steady  improvement  in  the 
quality  of  the  dramatic  fare  in  music  halls  has  been  the 
result. 

But  the  music  halls  in  their  turn  are  beginning  to 
suffer  from  the  competition  of  moving  picture  and 
cinematograph  theatres  which  offer  a  sensational  and 

242 


RECENT  DEVELOPMENTS  OF  THE  DRAMA    243 

ephemeral  form  of  drama  to  the  masses.  The  result  is 
that  the  music  halls  have  found  it  to  their  profit  to 
curtail  the  variety  items  in  their  entertainment,  and 
to  give  a  larger  and  larger  space  in  their  programme  to 
drama.  In  many  houses  an  entire  play  now  forms  the 
staple  of  the  evening's  fare,  with  a  mere  dash  of  one 
or  two  variety  turns  thrown  in.  While  at  some  music 
halls  the  variety  items  have  been  altogether  ousted  and 
a  play  takes  up  the  whole  bill.  This  practice  seems  to 
be  spreading,  and  the  result  of  removing  the  irritating 
and  stupid  restrictions  has  been  to  turn  many  music 
halls  into  theatres  pure  and  simple.  And  doubtless  this 
is  to  the  advantage  of  the  drama. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  music  halls  in  the  pro- 
vinces and  London  suburbs  give  their  programme 
twice  nightly,  one  audience  being  admitted  at  seven 
and  dismissed  at  nine  to  make  room  for  the  later 
visitors,  who  stay  till  eleven.  The  present  state  of 
things  may  be  regarded  as  transitional,  but  whatever 
developments  take  place  are  likely  to  tend  to  some 
slight  improvement  in  the  taste  of  the  crowd,  and  to  an 
increased  proportion  of  drama  in  the  programme.  It  is 
not  perhaps  too  much  to  hope  that  the  enormous  sums 
spent  on  public  education  since  1870  may  at  length 
begin  to  show  some  small  result  in  the  higher  quality 
of  the  amusement  demanded  by  the  populace. 

But  the  brightest  sign  of  a  renascence  of  the  drama 
in  the  English  provinces  is  the  formation  of  dramatic 
societies  in  the  large  towns,  and  the  organization  of 
repertory  companies  such  as  Miss  Horniman's  at 
Manchester.  If  such  companies  can  be  successfully 
organized  in  our  large  centres  of  population  a  genuine 
revival  of  the  drama  in  the  English  provinces  may  be 
looked  for.  Manchester,  Liverpool,  Glasgow,  Leeds, 
Sheffield,  Birmingham,  Belfast  and  other  large  towns 
seem  to  be  on  the  eve  of  such  a  revival.  In  each  of 
these  towns  a  body  of  devoted  and  intelligent  playgoers 
have  enrolled  themselves  for  the  study  and  promotion 


244    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

of  the  modern  intellectual  drama.  And  in  each  of  them 
a  movement  is  afoot  for  the  support  of  a  repertory 
theatre.  Such  a  movement  will  lead  naturally  to  the 
ultimate  establishment  of  municipal  theatres  in  our 
large  towns.  It  is  to  this  end  that  lovers  of  the 
drama  in  the  provinces  may  be  entreated  to  bend  their 
energies  and  aims.  Let  our  young  enthusiasts  of  the 
drama  in  every  large  town  stir  up  a  ferment  of 
discussion  and  agitation  for  the  establishment  of  a 
municipal  theatre.  Doubtless  a  stiff  fight  will  have 
to  be  maintained  for  many  a  long  year,  but  I  am  per- 
suaded that  there  are  forces  at  work  in  our  national  life 
which  will  at  last  cause  our  city  fathers  to  recognize 
that  it  is  disgraceful  for  large  cities  like  Manchester, 
Liverpool,  Leeds  and  the  rest  to  lag  behind  small 
continental  towns  in  the  wise  encouragement  of  wise 
amusement  for  the  people.  Again  it  must  be  urged 
that  scarcely  anything  can  be  of  greater  concern  to  the 
masses  than  the  quality  of  the  entertainment  which 
absorbs  their  evening  hours. 

It  is  noticeable  in  companies  like  Miss  Horniman's 
and  the  Irish  players  that  the  quality  of  the  acting 
always  seems  to  be  superlatively  good.  Now  it  is 
unquestionable  that  by  constantly  playing  together, 
actors  learn  to  give  and  take,  and  to  help  each  other. 
Half  the  effect  of  any  single  performance  in  any  play 
is  due  to  the  fit  and  nice  responses  the  actor  gets  from 
his  brother  actors.  Constant  association  enables  actors 
to  play  up  to  each  other,  and  like  good  bridge  players 
to  put  tricks  into  their  partners'  hands.  In  a  repertory 
company  the  actors  learn  each  others'  play,  and  it  is  to 
each  member's  interest  to  serve  his  fellow  in  certain 
situations,  in  order  that  he  himself  may  be  served  in 
other  situations.  And  further,  it  is  to  each  member's 
interest  that  the  organization  should  score  as  a  whole. 
When  an  actor  is  only  occasionally  engaged  for  the  run 
of  a  play  he  is  naturally  tempted  to  force  his  part  into 
unfair  prominence,  and  to  play  for  himself,  seeing  that 


RECENT  DEVELOPMENTS  OF  THE  DRAMA    245 

unless  he  manages  somehow  to  score  in  this  one  part  it 
may  be  long  before  he  gets  another  engagement.  It  is 
from  these  considerations  that  the  acting  in  repertory 
companies  always  seems  to  attain  a  very  high  level. 
Each  individual  actor  gets  infinitely  more  and  better 
chances  of  showing  what  he  can  do. 

It  is  likely  that  we  shall  see  many  and  constant 
attempts  to  establish  repertory  companies  in  our  large 
towns.  And  they  will  succeed  in  so  far  as  they  can  get 
new  and  promising  plays  to  work  upon.  A  word  of 
caution  from  a  warm  sympathizer  with  the  movement 
may  be  spoken  to  its  promoters.  A  play  does  not 
necessarily  become  intellectual,  because  it  is  laboriously 
and  conscientiously  dull.  Nor  is  it  necessarily  true  to 
life,  because  it  lacks  imagination,  passion,  and  beauty  ; 
nor  necessarily  sincere,  because  it  is  flagrantly  shock- 
ing ;  nor  necessarily  moral,  because  it  flouts  the  ten 
commandments;  nor  necessarily  profound,  because  it 
lacks  common-sense;  nor  necessarily  well  constructed, 
because  it  has  only  one  scene  for  the  entire  play;  nor 
necessarily  natural,  because  it  is  badly  constructed ;  nor 
necessarily  a  work  of  art,  because  it  is  quite  natural 
and  true  to  life. 

This  latter  is  a  hard  saying  in  these  days.  Ruskin 
most  unjustly  likened  George  Eliot's  characters  to  "the 
sweepings  out  of  a  Pentonville  omnibus."  It  is  good  to 
be  natural ;  it  is  good  to  paint  men  and  women  as  they 
are,  and  to  make  them  talk  and  act  like  ordinary  human 
beings.  But  it  is  not  good  to  photograph  commonplace 
people  in  their  most  commonplace  aspects,  and  to  report 
their  commonplace  sayings  and  doings. 

Though  doubtless  in  a  democratic  age,  the  "  sweep- 
ings out  of  a  Pentonville  omnibus  "  do  honestly  conceive 
themselves  to  be  of  some  importance  in  the  scheme  of 
things.  And  so  they  are.  They  are  of  immense  im- 
portance to  themselves,  and  to  the  sociologist.  They 
are  of  still  greater  importance  to  the  politician,  for  they 
all  have  votes  ;  or  very  soon  they  all  will  have  votes. 


246    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

But  why  should  novelists  and  playwrights  take  them 
out  of  their  omnibus  and  put  them  into  books  and 
plays  ?  They  are  in  their  fit  place  in  their  omnibus  ; 
there  rest  they,  like  Wordsworth's  "  party  in  a  parlour," 
if  not  "all  silent,"  yet  assuredly  "all  damned."  And 
thus  cheerfully  fulfilling  their  destiny  and  the  vast 
designs  of  Providence,  let  them  be  left  in  their  omnibus, 
till  some  Dickens  comes  along  and  lifts  them  out  of  it 
into  the  riotous  chariots  of  his  humour  and  fancy,  and 
transfigures  them,  and  clothes  their  mortal  parts  with 
immortality?  For  ever  let  them  abide  in  their  omnibus, 
for  ever  creaking  up  Pentonville  hill ;  while  for  ever  on 
the  Grecian  urn  abides  the  bold  lover,  for  ever  pursuing 
a  bride  who  can  never  fade,  under  trees  that  can  never 
be  bare. 


XVI 

LITERARY   CRITICS   AND  THE   DRAMA 

From  the  Nineteenth  Century  Review  for  April,  1903,  by  the  kind 
permission  of  the  late  Sir  James  Knowles. 

In  the  last  December  number  of  this  Review  Mr.  Oswald 
Crawfurd  ventured  again  into  that  perennial  bog  in 
English  literature,  the  modern  English  drama.  Into 
the  Slough  of  Despond,  Bunyan  tells  us,  had  been  thrown 
"  twenty  thousand  cartloads  of  wholesome  instructions" 
and  yet  the  way  was  nowise  improved.  During  the  last 
twenty-five  years  how  many  thousands  of  "  cartloads  of 
wholesome  instructions  "  have  been  poured  down  upon 
the  English  drama,  and  yet  the  footing  seems  as  shaky 
as  ever.  Till  at  last  one  begins  to  dread  that  the 
English  drama  is  as  perverse  and  incorrigible  as  one's 
own  private  character;  a  domain  where,  as  all  we  good 
Christians  know,  enormous  strivings  after  perfection  are 
scantily  rewarded  with  the  most  meagre,  oblique,  and 
miserable  results  ;  where  vast  efforts  must  be  unceasingly 
expended  to  obtain  the  poor  satisfaction  of  not  having 
backslided  much  behind  our  former  state. 

Those  who  watched  the  English  drama  for  the  few 
years  preceding  1894  must  have  seen  that  it  was  moved 
by  a  new  impulse,  that  it  was  diligently  setting  about 
to  render  a  truthful  portrait  of  English  life,  or  at  least 
of  certain  aspects  and  currents  of  English  life.  Let 
anyone  compare  the  published  English  plays  of  the 
years  1890-94  with  those  of  the  preceding  generation, 
with   the   faded  insipidities   of  Robertson,  the   lifeless 

247 


248    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

punning  witticisms  of  H.  J.  Byron,  the  emasculated 
adaptations  from  the  French  which  held  our  theatres 
from  i860  to  1880 — let  anyone  make  this  comparison, 
and  I  do  not  think  he  will  charge  me  with  taking  too 
sanguine  a  view  of  the  situation  when  in  the  autumn  of 
1894  I  announced  The  Renascence  of  the  English  Drama. 

The  ink  in  my  pen  had  scarcely  dried  when  a  series 
of  letters  appeared  in  the  newspapers  assailing  the 
leaders  of  the  English  dramatic  movement  as  subverters 
of  English  morality,  and  clamouring  that  the  national 
drama  should  again  be  raised  to  its  proper  level  of  a 
Sunday  School  tale,  and  to  the  chaste  dignity  of  Madame 
Tussaud's.  We  all  know  what  happens  in  our  blissful 
realm  when  instincts  which  would  make  a  lasting 
reputation  for  an  inspector  of  nuisances  proclaim 
themselves  the  supreme  magistrates  in  art,  and  iscourge 
their  possessor  to  run  amuck  in  aesthetics.  Very  little 
was  seen  or  heard  of  the  English  drama  for  the  next  two 
or  three  years.  The  English  playgoer,  having  taken 
two  or  three  shuddering  peeps  at  humanity  in  Ibsen's 
and  his  imitators'  mirrors,  declared  the  likeness  to  be  a 
horrible  libel  and  ran  affrighted  away. 

There  followed  two  or  three  years  of  gay  revellings 
in  cape  and  sword,  mere  holiday  burlesques  with 
phantom  fighting  men  for  heroes,  with  no  relation  to 
life,  with  no  pretence  to  human  portraiture.  When  our 
cape  and  sword  junketings  had  somewhat  abated,  an 
era  of  pretty  sentimentality  began  to  dawn ;  always  a 
useful  era  for  fathers  of  families ;  very  deservedly  suc- 
cessful, very  deservedly  praised.  For  no  one  who  has 
our  national  well-being  at  heart  can  but  wish  that  many, 
nay,  let  us  say  that  most  of  the  entertainments  at  our 
theatres  shall  be  such  as  young  girls  can  visit  without 
any  feeling  of  discomfort  or  alarm ;  providing  that  the 
dramatist  is  not  thereby  shut  out  from  dealing  with 
those  darker  and  deeper  issues  of  life  which  are  freely 
discussed  and  probed  in  the  Bible,  in  Shakespeare,  in 
the  Greek  tragedies,  and  indeed  in  all  great  literature ; 


LITERARY  CRITICS  AND  THE  DRAMA    249 

providing  that  the  dramatist  is  not  defamed  as  a  male- 
factor when  he  declines  to  put  himself  on  the  level  of  an 
illustrator  of  children's  fairy  tales.  We  are  here  brought 
naturally  into  the  one  path  where  all  discussion  on  the 
English  drama  inevitably  leads — that  is,  to  the  distinction 
between  popular  entertainment  and  the  art  of  the  drama. 
Only  so  far  as  this  distinction  is  recognized  and  enforced 
can  we  set  out  to  have  a  national  English  drama. 

To  sum  up  the  last  ten  dramatic  years  in  one  sen- 
tence, we  may  say  that  we  have  passed  from  the 
raptures  of  ardent  morbidity  in  1894  to  the  graces  of 
soppy  sentimentality  in  1903  ;  we  have  exchanged  a 
dose  of  drastic  purgative  for  a  stick  of  barley-sugar. 
Now  neither  black  draught  nor  barley-sugar  can  long 
furnish  the  staple  diet  of  man  ;  neither  ardent  morbidity 
nor  soppy  sentimentality  can  give  forth  a  great  spirit 
to  possess  and  inform  a  national  drama.  For  both 
ardent  morbidity  and  soppy  sentimentality  are  alike  far 
removed  from  that  large  and  wise  sanity ;  that  keen 
wide  view  of  men  and  women ;  that  clean  delight  in  the 
healthy  savour  of  humankind,  which  are  surely  a  dis- 
tinctive mark  of  the  English  spirit  at  its  best ;  which 
are  equally  a  distinctive  mark  of  the  greatest  English 
literature ;  and  which  we  may  confidently  prophesy 
will  be  equally  a  distinctive  mark  of  our  English  drama 
— if  we  ever  get  one. 

Now  it  seemed  to  me  in  reading  Mr.  Oswald  Craw- 
furd's  article  of  last  December  that  he  had  really  seized 
upon  the  supreme  points  at  issue  when  he  asked,  "Why 
is  English  literature  so  estranged  from  the  English 
drama?  Why  does  such  fierce  and  unnatural  hatred 
exist  between  parent  and  child  ?  Is  there  any  way  of 
bringing  them  together  again  ?" 

Mr.  Oswald  Crawfurd  glances  across  to  France  and 
sees  there  a  national  drama  not  only  akin,  but  indeed 
largely  identical  with  contemporary  national  literature. 
Ask  at  the  smallest  railway  bookstall  in  France  for 
LAiglon  or  Cyrano  de  Bcrgerac,  and  you  will  be  handed 


2SO    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

the  two  hundred  thousandth  copy.  Inquire  in  England 
for  a  copy  of  some  -play  upon  whose  representation  the 
English-speaking  public  has  perhaps  expended  some 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  pounds,  and  you  will  find  that 
in  print  it  can  scarcely  toddle  into  a  poor  second  edition. 
Here  I  imagine  that  nobody  will  be  so  obliging  as  to 
give  me  the  chance  of  retorting,  "  Oh  no  !  The  mere 
absence  of  literature  from  a  modern  English  play  is  no 
reason  why  it  should  not  sell  in  its  thousands.  Look  at 
our  bookstalls  ! " 

No,  the  truth  is  that  play-reading  is  a  habit,  not  very 
difficult  to  acquire  when  once  the  shorthand  of  it  is 
mastered.  It  must  be  allowed  that  the  technicalities  of 
stage  directions  and  descriptions  of  the  scene  are  tire- 
some and  confusing  to  the  inexpert  reader.  Rather 
than  perplex  the  reader,  it  is  better  to  omit  them  as  far 
as  possible,  and  trust  to  the  dramatist's  one  and  only 
weapon — his  bare  dialogue.  It  has  been  suggested  that 
readers  might  be  won  for  English  plays  if  the  stage 
directions  were  expanded  in  a  literary  way,  the  dialogue 
being  imbedded  in  full  explanatory  narration  and  de- 
scription.^ The  experiment  is  worth  trying,  and  might 
lead  to  interesting  developments.  I  incline,  however, 
to  drop  stage  directions  altogether  in  a  printed  play. 
What  more  do  we  want  when  we  open  Macbeth  than 
"A  blasted  heath.  Thunder  and  lightning.  Enter  three 
witches"? 

I  repeat  that  it  is  chiefly  the  mere  habit  of  reading 
plays  that  needs  to  be  acquired. 

A  constant  and  general  habit  of  reading  plays  will 
have  an  important  incidental  result.  In  France,  as 
Mr.  Oswald  Crawfurd  perceives,  the  drama  is  recog- 
nized as  something  distinct  from  the  theatre.  It  has 
a  power  and  life  of  its  own.     In  England  the  drama  and 

*  This  suggestion  has  since  been  put  into  practice,  and  in  some 
modem  plays  has  been  developed  to  a  ridiculous  extent.  It  indicates 
that  the  playwright  cannot  manage  the  tools  of  his  own  craft,  but  is 
obliged  to  borrow  the  tools  of  the  novelist  (November,  1912). 


LITERARY  CRITICS  AND  THE   DRAMA    251 

the  theatre  are  alike  mashed  up  in  the  common   pig- 
trough  of  popular  entertainment.     The  dramatist  does 
not  count  in  the  least  with  the  great  body  of  playgoers, 
except  as  a  sort  of  journeyman  behind  the  scenes,  who 
in  some  vague  and  undefined  way  hands  to  the  actor  his 
conjuring  implements.    A  play  does  not  exist  in  England 
apart  from  its  representation.    If,  from  one  of  a  thousand 
causes,   that    representation    is    faulty   or    ill-directed, 
instantly  the  play  dies  and  is  no  more  seen.     And  the 
one  law  that  governs   the  successful   production  of  a 
play — namely,  that  the  creation  of  the  dramatist  and  the 
embodiment  of  the  actor  must  be  equal  and  coincident, 
that    the   greater   the   creation   the    greater   and   more 
embracing  must  be  the  embodiment  (or  some  forcible- 
feeble  fiasco  will  be  the  evident  result) — this  law  is  not 
even  suspected  by  English  playgoers.    Now  Mr.  Oswald 
Crawfurd  has  perceived  that  the  habit  of  reading  and 
studying  plays,  as  is  the  custom  in  France,  would  surely 
give  a  great  spurt  to  a  national  English  drama.     For 
having  clearly  seen  and  urged  this  and  other   kindred 
points,  I  think  English  playwrights  are  considerably  in 
debt  to  him.     He  is,  I  think,  quite  wide  of  the  mark  when 
he  says  :  "  At  present  the  writing  of  plays  is  in  England 
a  close  profession  "  ;  and  again,  "  In  France  and  Germany, 
especially  in  France,  there  is  no  privileged  enclosure, 
barred  to  the  outsider,  for  the  professional  playwright." 
Nothing  can  be  further  from  the  truth  than  to  suppose 
that  playwriting  in  England  is  "  a  close  profession,"  that 
there  is  any  "privileged  enclosure,  barred  to  the  outsider." 
What  are  the  facts  of  the  case  ?     Some  few  months 
ago  Mr.   George  Alexander  gave  the    Playgoers'   Club 
a  chance  of  discovering  and  displaying  the  quantity  and 
the  quality  of  outside  dramatic  talent  that  was  vainly 
knocking   at  managers'  doors.     What  was  the   result  ? 
Again,   Mr.    Oswald    Crawfurd    must    remember    that 
almost  every  man  of  letters  of  the  present  and  past  gene- 
ration, from  Tennyson  and  Browning  downwards,  has 
written  plays,  and  has  offered  them  to  managers.     Mr. 


252    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

Oswald  Crawfurd  says  that  the  reforms  indicated  in  his 
paper  have  for  their  object  the  breaking  down  of 
"  barriers  that  now  keep  away  from  the  writing  of  plays 
the  men  most  competent  to  write  good  ones."  In  reply 
to  this  it  must  be  urged  that,  whatever  barriers  there 
are,  they  cannot  be  said  to  have  kept  away  from  the 
writing  of  plays  any  one  single  person,  competent  or 
incompetent.  Mr.  Oswald  Crawfurd  is  surely  the  only 
man  of  letters  in  England  who  can  boast,  or  confess,  or 
deplore  that  he  has  never  offered  a  play  to  a  manager. 
One  scarcely  knows  whether  to  envy,  to  congratulate, 
to  laud  and  belaurel,  or  to  sympathize  with  a  writer 
in  so  astonishingly  unique  a  position.  No,  it  cannot 
be  too  strongly  asserted  or  too  widely  known  that  there 
is  no  "dramatic  ring,"  no  "close  profession,"  no  "privi- 
leged enclosure,  barred  to  outsiders." 

Further,  the  behaviour  of  literature  itself  offers  the 
surest  testimony  on  this  point.     Nothing  can  be  more 
amusing  or  more  significant  than  the  manner  in  which 
literary  gentlemen  of  quite  respectable  standing  (such, 
for   instance,  as  Mr.   W.  E.  Henley)  treat  the  modern 
English    drama ;   their    alternations    of   contempt    and 
patronage  ;  their  sudden  changes  from  the  sincerest  form 
of  flattery  to  the  liveliest  exhibitions  of  disappointment 
and  jealousy  and   anger — all   this   should   surely   offer 
some  key  to   the  situation.     No,  the  barriers  between 
literature  and  the  drama  are  not  such  as  Mr.  Oswald 
Crawfurd  supposes.     "  Barriers "   of  some   kind   there 
are,  since  we  are  all  agreed  that  modern  English  litera- 
ture is  scarcely  represented  in  our  theatres ;  that  it  is 
largely  despised  by  our  audiences ;  that  the  majority  of 
the  performances  given  in  our  West-end   theatres  are 
not  merely  indifferent  to  literature,  but  are  instinct  with 
blatant  derision  of  it ;  that  these  are  the  theatres  which 
are  the  most  successful  with  the  public,  which  meet  on 
all  sides  with  the  utmost  goodwill  and  goodfellowship ; 
where  the  entertainment  is  always  sure  of  a  long  run, 
though  it  is  as  far  removed  from  anything  that  could  be 


LITERARY  CRITICS  AND  THE   DRAMA    253 

called  literature  as  a  modern  villa   is   from   Salisbury 
Cathedral. 

These,  then,  are  the  facts.  Where  does  the  fault  lie  ? 
What  are  the  real  barriers  ?  Now  it  must  be  granted 
that  in  no  future  time  is  it  probable  that  the  drama 
proper  will  again  be  able  to  compete  with  popular 
entertainment  on  its  own  ground.  The  stars  in  their 
courses  are  not  with  us  in  the  present  stage  of  civiliza- 
tion. Never  again  will  an  English  dramatist  draw  such 
popular  audiences  as  the  Elizabethan  dramatist  could 
gather  round  him  from  the  sweepings  of  the  streets. 
One  of  our  present  mischiefs  is  that  the  English 
dramatist  is  bidden  to  try  and  hit  two  widely  distant 
bull's-eyes  with  one  shot ;  he  is  commanded  by  his 
public  and  the  press  to  meet  opposing  sets  of  conditions, 
to  minister  to  widely  opposing  tastes.  And  seeing  that 
the  drama  must  always  be  a  popular  art — a  popular  art, 
not  a  popular  entertainment — seeing  that  a  half-empty 
theatre  of  itself  makes  a  bad  play  and  bad  acting,  the 
dramatist  can  only  live  at  all  by  drawing  a  certain 
number  of  crowded  paying  audiences  around  him.  If 
he  shoots  wide,  he  most  likely  hits  neither  of  the 
bull's-eyes. 

I  think,  however,  it  may  be  claimed  that  there  is  in 
this  great  nation  of  London,  with  its  constant  stream  of 
visitors,  an  audience  sufficiently  numerous  to  support  an 
intellectual  English  drama.  I  think  there  is  a  large  body 
of  public  opinion  waiting  to  be  organized  ;  a  large  vague 
feeling  of  expectancy  waiting  to  be  informed  and  directed; 
a  general  wish  that  the  subject  of  a  national  drama 
should  be  explored  and  experimented  upon.  I  have 
already  thanked  Mr.  Oswald  Crawfurd  for  having  struck 
his  finger  on  the  central  spot,  the  want  of  any  definite 
understanding  between  our  literature  and  drama. 

He  goes  on  to  make  practical  suggestions  for  a  future 
drama.  And  here  I  think  an  examination  of  his 
proposals  will  give  us  an  insight  into  the  whole  matter, 
will  show  us  exactly  what  the  real  "  barriers  "  are  and 


254    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

where  they  lie.  Mr.  Crawfurd  perceives  that  modern 
audiences  are  more  and  more  grudging  of  the  time  that 
they  will  give  to  sit  out  a  performance.  The  lateness 
of  the  dinner  hour  has  something  to  do  with  this ;  the 
hurry  of  modern  life,  the  value  of  time,  are  also  to  be 
taken  into  account.  But  neither  of  these  is  the  governing 
factor. 

What,  then,  is  the  governing  factor  ?  Audiences  will 
sit  with  no  sign  of  impatience  from  eight  till  twelve  or 
half-past  to  see  Sarah  Bernhardt,  or  Rejane,  or  Salvini, 
or  a  Wagnerian  opera.  They  will,  under  quite  special 
conditions,  sit  nearly  all  day  to  see  the  Passion  Play. 
To  put  it  briefly,  audiences  will  sit  as  long  as  they  can 
see  great  acting  in  interesting  plays.  But  no  matter 
what  great  or  interesting  play  has  been  written, 
audiences  will  not  sit  to  hear  it  for  one  moment  unless 
it  is  being  acted  in  a  great  and  interesting  manner. 
Then  the  whole  of  the  credit  is  due  to  the  actor,  after 
all  ?  Not  at  all ;  just  his  fair  share,  which  is  usually 
about  half  of  his  one  character,  sometimes  a  little  more, 
sometimes  a  little  less,  but  usually  I  suppose  about  a 
half  And  this  brings  us  to  the  unfolding  of  the  law  I 
have  previously  glanced  at,  the  law  whose  existence  is 
not  even  suspected  by  English  playgoers,  viz. :  "  It  is  not 
what  the  playwright  has  written  or  intended  that 
audiences  see,  but  only  that  part  of  it  which  is  vitalized 
by  the  actor,  vitalized  in  accord  with  the  playwright's 
design,  vitalized  in  such  a  way  as  not  to  unbalance  or 
distort  or  obliterate  that  design." 

We  begin  to  see  the  first  great  pitfall  that  eternally 
awaits  the  playwright. 

Ascend  some  mountain  when  the  clouds  are  gathering 
round  its  summit ;  look  down  through  the  constantly 
shifting  gaps ;  see  little  islands  of  green  down  below  ; 
little  ribbons  of  road  leading  nowhere  ;  great  cities  being 
wholly  blotted  out,  or  only  guessed  at  from  the  frag- 
ments of  spires  and  pinnacles  that  float  unbuttressed  on 
the  vapour;    mist,   mist,    mist,  and   uncertain   drifting 


LITERARY  CRITICS  AND  THE   DRAMA    255 

everywhere.  Try  to  form  some  idea  of  the  landscape, 
some  coherent  picture  of  what  lies  before  you— then  try 
to  piece  together  the  picture  that  the  playwright  has 
graven  when  it  is  blurred  by  bad  acting  and  bad  stage 
management. 

The  main  thing  to  note  with  regard  to  the  length  of 
a  play  is  that  audiences  will  sit  for  four  hours  providing 
that  the  acting  is  vital  enough  to  keep  them  in  their 
seats.  And  I  think  that  herein  lies  one  superior  attrac- 
tion of  the  French  theatre  which  Mr.  Oswald  Crawfurd 
has  failed  to  mention,  in  that  our  neighbours  have  a  far 
greater  number  of  great  natural  actors  and  actresses 
than  our  English  stage  can  show,  while  in  point  of 
general  average  training  and  technique  we  dare  say 
nothing,  and  in  saying  nothing  we  say  all. 

Therefore  underlying  the  whole  situation  is  this  fact, 
that  in  the  absence  of  a  reading  public,  fine  or  great 
plays  can  only  be  produced  in  direct  proportion  and 
relation  to  the  number  of  fine  and  great  and  trained 
actors  who  are  available  to  interpret  them.  I  hope  I 
shall  not  be  represented  or  misrepresented  as  com- 
plaining of  the  actors  and  actresses  who  have  interpreted 
my  own  plays.  I  do  indeed  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to 
those  who  have  so  loyally,''^and  so  patiently,  and  in  some 
instances  so  magnificently  introduced  my  work  to  the 
English  public.  Let  me  hasten  to  record  this  immense 
debt  of  general  gratitude ;  let  me  at  any  time  be  called 
upon  to  make  specific  acknowledgment  in  any  of  those 
numberless  instances  where  splendid  stage  talents  have 
been  ungrudgingly  employed  with  the  happiest  results 
for  myself 

This  must  not  lead  us  away  from  the  broad  fact  that 
we  have  nothing  like  so  many  or  such  highly  trained 
actors  and  actresses  as  can  be  found  in  France ;  and  that 
the  future  success,  and  indeed  to  a  large  extent  the 
future  writing,  of  high-class  plays  depends  chiefly  upon 
our  obtaining  an  adequate  supply  of  highly  trained 
actors  and  actresses. 


256    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

I  saw  a  modern  play  at  the  Fran9ais.  It  held  me 
throughout  the  evening  and  gave  me  a  constant  illusion 
of  being  in  the  best  French  society,  and  of  overseeing 
a  wonderfully  interesting  story.  I  afterwards  saw  the 
same  piece  at  a  West-end  London  theatre,  the  characters 
and  scenes  remaining  French.  It  was  played  by  some 
well-known  actors,  not  indeed  of  the  first  rank,  but  yet 
quite  efficient  according  to  our  notions.  The  whole 
thing  was  dull,  false,  forcible-feeble,  vulgar,  and  impos- 
sible from  beginning  to  end.  Now  all  that  difference 
lay  in  the  acting  and  stage  management.  Yet  it  was 
impossible  to  blame  the  actors;  they  did  not  give  what 
could  be  detected,  even  by  experts,  as  bad  or  lifeless 
performances.  It  was  only  the  comparison  with  what 
I  had  seen  at  the  Frangais  that  enabled  me  to  say  that 
the  play  in  English  was  really  ruined  by  the  acting.  It 
it  had  been  the  first  performance  of  a  comparable  play 
of  English  life,  the  actors  would  have  been  praised  for 
doing  their  best  in  what  was  obviously  a  hopeless 
piece,  and  the  author  would  have  been  blamed.  And 
nobody  could  have  impugned  this  judgment,  since 
nobody  can  be  blamed  for  not  seeing  what  is  not 
there. 

But  it  is  not  merely  the  lack  of  a  large  body  of 
trained  actors  and  actresses  with  great  methods  that 
stunts  our  English  drama.  We  have  great  actors  and 
actresses  among  us,  great  artists  too  ;  nobody  can  more 
willingly  offer  more  convincing  testimony  on  that  point 
than  myself 

But  how  is  it  that  so  many  of  these,  and  those  in 
the  highest  places,  are  never  seen  in  English  pieces  by 
recognized  English  authors?  For  instance,  how  is  it 
that  so  great  and  incomparable  an  actress  as  Mrs. 
Kendal  is  scarcely  ever  seen  in  London  and  never  in 
any  play  that  is  worth  consideration  except  on  the 
ground  of  providing  her  with  an  effective  part?  This 
is  a  question  upon  which  English  playgoers  have  a 
right  to  press  for  enlightenment.     A  generation  or  two 


LITERARY  CRITICS  AND  THE   DRAMA    257 

ago  it  was  the  custom  of  the  leading  actor  to  buy  a 
piece  outright,  generally  an  adaptation  from  the  French  ; 
he  was  then  at  liberty  to  put  it  on  the  stage  with  such 
alterations  as  his  judgment,  or  policy,  or  vanity  might 
dictate.  Now  it  is  very  plain  that  the  rise  of  a  national 
English  drama  must  put  an  end  to  transactions  of  this 
kind.  It  is  not  a  question  of  whether  in  many  cases 
the  actor's  judgment  and  instincts  may  not  be  surer 
than  the  author's ;  very  often,  and  especially  in  what  is 
immediately  effective  with  an  audience,  the  actor  is  able 
to  offer  most  valuable  suggestions.  And,  speaking  for 
myself,  I  make  it  an  invariable  rule  in  this  and  other 
matters  to  accept  advice  when  it  coincides  with  my  own 
opinion. 

But  very  often  the  necessities  and  advantages  and 
well-being  of  the  play  do  not  in  the  least  coincide  with 
the  necessities  and  advantages  and  well-being  of  the 
leading  actor's  reputation.  And  this  fact  to  a  large 
extent,  to  an  extent  that  is  daily  growing  larger,  has 
separated  the  best  English  plays  from  their  best  possible 
representation,  perhaps  from  the  only  adequate  repre- 
sentation of  them.  English  playgoers  are  herein  the 
losers,  and  it  is  they  who  must  finally  adjudge  the 
dispute.  But  it  is  quite  clear  that  if  we  are  to  have  an 
English  drama,  it  can  only  be  settled  one  way ;  it  is  not 
a  matter  of  fees,  or  of  self-importance,  or  of  precedence  ; 
it  is  a  matter  where  a  just  pride  in  one's  art  will  always 
spring  up  so  long  as  there  is  any  life  in  the  art  at  all. 

But  further,  not  only  is  the  training  of  our  actors 
and  actresses  deficient  and  slovenly,  but  the  state  of 
affairs  is  every  day  tending  to  grow  worse.  Mr. 
Benson's  and  Mr.  Ben  Greet's  are  now  the  only  repertory 
companies  left  on  the  English  stage.  It  is  a  remarkable 
fact  that  many  of  the  most  striking  recent  successes, 
both  in  modern  and  poetic  drama,  have  been  made  by 
members  of  Mr.  Benson's  company — that  is,  by  actors 
who  have  had  the  advantage  of  constant,  hard,  and 
varied  training;   who  have  not  grown  mannered  .and 


258    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

careless  and  lazy  in  the  comfortable  and  ignoble  shelter 
of  a  long  run. 

From  all  this  I  hope  it  is  apparent  that  a  concurrent, 
if  not  a  primary  move  in  the  production  of  good  plays 
is  the  foundation  of  an  academy,  or  training  school  or 
schools  for  actors,  so  that  an  adequate  interpretation 
may  be  ensured.  Otherwise  good  plays,  even  if  written 
and  produced,  will  merely  fall  dead  and  leave  no  seed. 

I  have  elaborated  this  point  because  I  am  sure  it 
should  be  our  first  practical  step ;  all  building  of  national 
theatres  is  for  the  moment  out  of  the  question.  The 
first  great  practical  move  to  be  taken  in  dramatic  reform 
is  somehow  and  somewhere  to  provide  constant  training 
before  the  public  for  young  actors  or  actresses.  The 
first  great  ideal,  never  quite  to  be  realized,  but  always 
to  be  upheld  and  impressed  upon  playgoers,  is  the 
separation  of  the  art  of  the  drama  from  popular  enter- 
tainment, 

I  have  left  untiFnow  Mr.  Oswald  Crawfurd's  sugges- 
tion as  to  the  way  of  meeting  the  supposed  demand  of 
English  audiences  for  shorter  hours  at  the  theatre.  I 
have  shown  that  this  is  largely  rather  a  demand  for 
more  vital  and  continuous  interest  on  the  stage.  But 
doubtless  a  shortening  of  the  time,  say  from  nine  till 
eleven,  is  desired  and  would  be  welcomed  by  a  large 
number  of  our  playgoers.  Mr.  Crawfurd  suggests  that 
the  first  act  of  our  plays  should  be  omitted,  and  that  in 
lieu  of  it  the  author  should  write  a  narrative  prologue 
giving  the  substance  in  one  literary  speech. 

It  is  just  possible  that  this  might  be  done  success- 
fully for  once  in  away,  as  a  tour  deforce.  But  it  is  quite 
certain  that  nothing  but  a  hybrid,  infertile  form  of  art 
could  issue  therefrom.  If  anyone  wishes  to  write 
narrative  poetry,  let  him  do  it ;  there  is  still  a  great 
field  open.  If  anyone  wishes  to  write  drama,  let  him 
do  it,  or  try  to  do  it.  But  if  the  piece  has  to  be  shortened, 
let  it  be  shortened  according  to  the  rules  of  its  own  art. 
Will  Mr.  Crawfurd  forgive  my  telling  him  that  no  man 


LITERARY   CRITICS  AND  THE   DRAMA    259 

should  think  himself  a  dramatist  until  he  can  so  condense 
and  inform  his  dialogue  that  behind  it  is  hidden  and 
packed  up  a  narrative  of  greater  volume  than  the  dialogue 
itself?  I  do  not  say  that  the  main  outline  of  the  entire 
story  may  not  often  be  given  in  half  a  dozen  words ; 
but  I  do  say  that  whatever  is  essential  for  the  audience 
to  learn  must  by  suggestion,  by  implication,  by  side- 
lights and  contrivances,  be  given  by  the  dramatist  in 
dialogue  which  shall  convey  all  necessary  facts  of 
history,  all  necessary  facts  of  character,  all  relations  of 
the  persons  in  the  play  to  one  another  and  to  the  main 
theme — shall  do  all  this  in  far  fewer  words  than  would 
be  used  by  a  story-teller  in  giving  the  same  information 
in  the  third  person.  And  therein  lies  the  art  of  the 
playwright ;  therein  lies  his  peculiar  technique,  which 
I  affirm  is  more  difficult  to  master  to-day  than  the 
technique  of  painting,  a  technique  which  every  man 
who  hopes  to  be  a  painter  will  willingly  give  many  years 
to  learn. 

So  that  whatever  reduction  it  is  advisable  to  make 
in  the  length  of  plays  should  be  made  within  the  rules 
of  the  art  of  playwriting — that  is,  by  further  compressing 
the  story.  What  is  perhaps  the  greatest  story  that  was 
ever  told  on  the  stage,  the  (Edipits  Tyrannus,  is  not 
sensibly  longer  in  words  than  Box  and  Cox,  and  it 
contains  far  more  story  and  action. 

I  think  that  English  playwrights,  guided  by  the  loud 
entrances  of  late-comers  in  the  stalls,  are  learning  this 
necessary  lesson  of  compression.  In  this  connection 
let  who  will  glance  at  the  first  act  of  Tatiuffc,  which  is 
all  exposition,  and  contains  scarcely  any  action.  But 
Mr.  Oswald  Crawfurd  thinks  that  the  practice  of  writing 
prologue  would  make  us  "literary."  At  best  it  could 
only  teach  us  to  write  narrative  poetry,  or  narrative 
prose ;  and  it  is  not  these,  but  national  drama,  that  the 
English  nation  lacks  just  at  present.  Thus  it  is  plain 
Mr.  Oswald  Crawfurd's  reform  would  really  draw  off 
our  forces  from  our  own  proper  work. 


26o    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

There  is  one  sentence  in  Mr.  Crawfurd's  article 
which  illumines  the  whole  matter.  Mr.  Crawfurd  says  : 
"Stagecraft  is  an  art,  and  an  important  one,  but  litera- 
ture is  a  far  greater  one,  and  only  a  great  writer  could 
write  a  great  prologue."  Just  so,  but  only  a  much  greater 
writer  could  write  a  great  drama.  And  it  is  here  a  ques- 
tion of  writing  drama,  wherein  skill  and  practice  in  writ- 
ing prologues  will  help  us  scarcely  at  all.  True  it  is  that 
literature  is  a  far  greater  art  than  mere  stagecraft ;  but 
what  we  are  seeking  to  produce  is  not  mere  stagecraft, 
but  stagecraft  that  shall  be  also  literature.  Here  I 
think  Mr.  Crawfurd  in  unconsciously  opposing  literature 
to  stagecraft  has  disclosed  the  whole  situation,  has  dis- 
closed what  and  where  are  the  real  "  barriers  "  between 
literature  and  our  drama.  For  the  benefit  of  English 
literary  men  who  wish  to  write  plays,  and  of  English 
literary  critics  who  wish  to  discuss  them,  these 
"  barriers  "  may  be  conveniently  pointed  out. 

English  literature,  then,  can  be  seen  on  the  present-day 
English  stage  under  the  following  conditions  only ; 

(i)  The  writer  must  have  some  natural  instinct  for 
the  stage,  some  inborn  gift  for  the  theatre. 

(2)  He  must  patiently  learn  the  technique  of  the 
stage,  a  technique  1  believe  to  be  far  more  difficult  and 
exacting  to-day  than  that  of  painting,  which  everyone 
will  allow  is  not  to  be  acquired  without  years  of  study 
and  practice. 

(3)  His  literature  must  inform  and  exhibit  a  strong, 
moving,  universal  story ;  and  must  do  this  in  a  casual 
unsuspected  way,  as  if  the  writer  were  unaware  and 
unconcerned  about  it. 

(4)  His  literature  must  be  so  broad  and  human  that 
it  can  be  instantly  apprehended  and  digested  by  the 
boys  in  the  gallery  ;  who  will  else  begin  to  hoot  him, 
and  prevent  his  play  from  being  heard  at  all. 

(5)  His  literature  must  be  so  subtle  and  delicate  that 
it  will  tickle  the  palates  of  literary  critics  in  the  stalls ; 
who  will  else  proclaim  him  to  be  a  vulgar  mountebank 


LITERARY  CRITICS  AND  THE   DRAMA    261 

and  impostor,  practising  the  cheapest  tricks  of  money- 
making. 

(6)  His  literature  must  exactly  fit  the  mouths,  and 
persons,  and  manners,  and  training  of  the  various 
members  of  the  company  who  are  to  deliver  it ;  or  it 
may  appear  to  the  audience  in  some  inconceivable  guise 
or  disguise  of  quaint  imbecility. 

(7)  His  literature  (in  a  play  of  modern  life)  must  be 
of  that  supreme  quality  which  is  constantly  and  natur- 
ally spoken  by  all  classes  of  English  men  and  women 
in  everyday  life ;  it  must  be  obviously  and  frankly 
colloquial ;  or  the  writer  will  be  instantly  convicted 
of  artificiality  and  unreality  in  a  matter  where  every- 
body is  an  expert. 

(8)  His  literature  must  be  of  that  kind  which  will 
immediately  bring  at  least  eight  hundred  pounds  a  week 
to  the  box  office,  in  addition  to  the  costs  of  production ; 
or  his  manager  will  be  hastily  advanced  to  the  bankruptcy 
court. 

These,  then,  are  eight  of  the  "  barriers "  between 
literature  and  the  drama.  And  after  this  explanation 
I  do  not  think  it  will  be  fair  for  literary  men  or  literary 
critics  to  speak  of  a  "close  profession,"  a  "dramatic 
ring,"  "a  privileged  enclosure,  barred  to  the  outsider, 
for  the  professional  playwright." 

At  diff"erent  times  I  have  had  through  my  hands 
manuscript  plays  of  men  whose  names  are  eminent  in 
literature,  men  of  high  dignity  in  the  Church,  men  of 
the  highest  renown  in  science,  and  they  have  generally 
shown  an  entire  ignorance  of  the  conditions  I  have  laid 
down  above. 

After  this  I  hope  we  may  beg  that  literature  will 
cease  to  flout  and  despise  the  modern  drama,  and  will 
try  to  understand  what  our  difficulties  are ;  how  tough 
is  the  battle  we  are  fighting  with  vulgarity,  with  theatri- 
cality, with  the  prevalent  lust  for  senseless  and  sensual 
entertainment,  with  all  the  forces  that  are  ranged  on 
the  side  of  sprawling  licentiousness. 


262    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

I  take  it  for  granted  that  it  is  desirable  to  have  an 
English  drama.  How  strange  it  would  be  if  an  English 
painter  could  by  any  possibility  moot  such  a  question 
about  his  art!  Yet  the  drama  is  in  itself  far  more 
searching,  instant,  and  operative  than  painting;  or 
indeed  than  any  of  the  other  arts ;  far  more  potent  for 
intellectual  ferment  and  life.  Surely  in  any  well-ordered 
community  the  drama  should  be  the  most  alive  of  all 
the  arts. 

As  Mr.  Oswald  Crawfurd  has  shown,  in  France  the 
national  drama  is  a  live  part  of  the  national  literature. 
That  is  because  French  literary  men  love  and  under- 
stand their  drama ;  are  jealous  for  it,  instead  of  being 
jealous  of  it,  as  they  are  in  England ;  jealous  and 
ignorant  of  it,  and  fitfully  contemptuous. 

Now  if  the  English  desire  to  have  a  drama,  the  way 
to  it  is  very  plain ;  very  plain  and  straightforward, 
though  it  must  be  owned  it  will  be  very  difficult  and 
hard  of  ascent.  I  have  here  indicated  some  of  the 
difficulties,  and  I  have  pointed  out  what  should  be  our 
first  move — namely,  to  start  a  training  school  for  our 
rising  actors.  I  fear  there  can  be  no  training  school  for 
playwrights ;  "  therein  the  patient  must  minister  to 
himself"  I  hope,  as  I  have  leisure,  to  deal  with  other 
difficulties  and  misunderstandings  as  they  may  arise. 
My  excuse  for  again  vexing  the  public  must  be  that 
some  of  the  most  important  matters  are  in  their  essence 
quite  diff'erent  from  what  they  appear  to  be ;  and  can 
only  be  truly  weighed  and  estimated  when  they  are 
approached  with  a  practical  knowledge  of  the  stage 
from  within. 


XVII 

MR.    BIRRELL   AND   PROFESSOR   LOUNSBURY   AS    DRAMATIC 

CRITICS 

September,  191 2. 

The  lively  interest  in  the  modern  acted  drama  shown 
by  American  Universities,  and  by  American  men  of 
letters,  has  led  them  to  a  clear  understanding  and  a 
sound  method  of  criticism  of  classic  and  poetic  drama. 
Compare  Mr.  Augustine  Birrell's  estimate  of  Browning 
as  a  dramatist,  in  his  "  Selected  Essays,"  with  the 
estimate  of  Professor  Lounsbury,  of  Yale,  in  "  The 
Early  Literary  Career  of  Robert  Browning"  (Scribner, 
191 1),  Both  critics  are  devoted  admirers  of  the  poet, 
but  Mr.  Birrell,  in  a  piece  of  special  pleading,  claims  a 
high  place  for  Browning  as  an  actable  dramatist,  and 
affirms  that  he  succeeded  on  the  stage.  This,  as  Pro- 
fessor Lounsbury  has  shown  and  as  everybody  knows 
who  is  acquainted  with  the  English  theatre,  is  a  delusion 
of  Browning's  admirers,  encouraged  by  Browning  him- 
self Browning  in  the  theatre  has  never  had  anything 
more  than  a  succes  cTennm;  and  this  can  easily  be  won 
by  any  literary  man  who  has  a  following ;  or,  as  is  con- 
stantly seen,  by  any  eccentric  person  who  discovers 
some  new  way  of  boring  people  in  the  theatre.  These 
laudatory  verdicts  of  partisans  are  sooner  or  later, 
"  rectified  by  the  masses,"  to  use  Goethe's  phrase. 

"  But  when  the  crier  cried,  *  Oh,  Yes,' 
The  people  cried,  '  Oh,  No  ! '" 

Mr.  Birrell's  criticism  may  be  profitably  read  as  a 

263 


264    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

standing  illustration  of  the  ever-recurring  failure  of  men 
of  letters  to  get  in  touch  with  the  acted  drama,  or  to 
understand  its  simplest  laws.  Professor  Lounsbury's 
criticism  may  be  read  as  a  standing  illustration  of  the 
rare  success  of  a  man  of  letters  to  get  in  touch  with  the 
acted  drama,  and  to  understand  why  and  when  a  play  is 
not  a  play.  Professor  Lounsbury  incidentally  shows 
(what  is  known  to  readers  of  our  English  Times)  how 
enjoyable  and  stimulating  dramatic  criticism  may  be, 
when  it  is  done  by  a  man  of  letters  who  has  studied  its 
laws  in  the  theatre. 

By  the  way,  a  delightful  piece  of  good  reading  is 
Dennis's  criticism  of  Addison's  Cato,  quoted  at  length 
in  Johnson's  "  Lives."  Johnson,  being  an  English  man 
of  letters,  of  course  does  not  see  the  cogency  and  just- 
ness of  Dennis's  criticism,  and  in  pronouncing  judgment 
on  Cato  goes  as  far  astray  as  Mr,  Birrell  himself 
Mr.  Birrell  will  doubtless  be  glad  to  be  found  astray  in 
Johnson's  company. 

Dennis's  humorous  and  merciless  analysis  of  the 
absurdities  in  the  actions  and  motives  of  the  characters 
in  Cato  may  be  read  alongside  Professor  Lounsbury's 
humorous  but  more  kindly  severe  analysis  of  the 
absurdities  in  the  actions  and  motives  of  the  characters 
in  The  Blot  i!  the  'Scutcheon. 

^{What  is  the  very  plain  truth  about  Browning's 
position  as  a  dramatist  ?  Let  Professor  Lounsbury  tell 
it  in  his  own  words. 

For  Browning's  rank  as  a  dramatist,  "  the  most 
extravagant  claims  have  been  advanced,  especially  of 
late  years.  More  than  once  we  have  been  assured  that 
he  is  the  greatest  of  English  dramatists  since  Shake- 
speare. .  .  .  The  truth  is  that  so  far  from  being  a  great 
dramatist  second  only  to  Shakespeare,  Browning  in  the 
proper  sense  of  the  word  is  no  dramatist  at  all.  No 
great  poet  who  has  set  out  to  write  plays  has  failed 
more  signally  than  he  in  mastering  the  technique  of  his 
art.     None  has  shown  so  little  comprehension  of  those 


BIRRELL  AND  LOUNSBURY  AS  CRITICS    265 

details  of  expression,  construction  and  arrangement 
which  unite  to  make  a  play  successful  on  the  stage.  .  .  . 
His  dramas  throughout  exhibit  vital  defects  as  acting 
plays.  They  lack  organic  unity  and  order,  and  what 
we^'may  call  inevitable  development.  What  is  further 
unsatisfactory  in  them  is  the  utter  inadequacy  of  their 
portrayal  of  human  nature,  and  too  frequently  their 
unfaithfulness  to  it.  But  so  far  as  the  average  playgoer 
is  concerned,  worse  than  anything  else  is  their  lack  of 
sustained  interest.  .  .  .  Above  all,  so  far  as  regards 
representation,  the  impossibility  of  comprehending  the 
conversation,  and  consequently  of  following  the  course 
of  what  little  action  there  is,  without  effort  which  must 
be  antagonizing  in  its  intensity — this  of  itself  will  always 
make  them  failures  on  the  stage.  ...  It  is  no  marvel, 
therefore,  that  Browning's  plays  did  not  succeed.  They 
are  often  hard  to  follow  in  the  closet ;  on  the  stage  it  is 
impossible  to  follow  them.  The  truth  is  that  his  forte 
did  not  lie  at  all  in  the  drama.  It  is  in  dramatic  mono- 
logue alone  that  he  achieved  success.  In  that  he  has  no 
superior  in  our  literature.  But  the  dramatic  monologue 
is  only  allied  to  the  drama ;  it  is  not  the  drama  itself. 
.  .  .  Without  speaking  of  any  other  of  its  various 
failures  to  meet  the  requirements  of  stage  representa- 
tion, it  excludes  action  entirely.  But  action  is  a  cardinal 
distinction  of  the  drama  proper;  it  is  essential  to  its 
very  existence.  Herein  Browning  failed  completely. 
The  characters  in  his  plays  are  as  a  rule  so  much  taken 
up  with  talking  about  everything  in  general,  that  they 
have  hardly  leisure  left  to  do  anything  in  particular. 
They  discuss  their  feelings  instead  of  being  inspired  by 
them ;  and  in  discussing  them  they  forget  the  hearer 
who  is  waiting  for  something  to  happen.  .  .  .  His  plays 
therefore  are  to  be  read  and  studied  ;  they  are  not  to  be 
witnessed.  Not  one  of  them  complies  with  the  canons 
of  effective  stage  representation.  The  born  dramatist, 
like  the  orator,  has  his  eye  always  upon  the  audience. 
In  order  to  rank  Browning  in  this  class  of  writers,  his 


266    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

partisans  have  to  invent  a  distinction  between  dramatic 
authors  and  playwrights  which  seems  based  on  the 
theory  that  a  genuine  dramatic  author  cannot  produce  a 
play  which  an  ordinary  audience  can  endure.  To  mark 
a  distinction  between  a  great  poet,  and  a  great  poet  who 
is  also  a  great  playwright,  nothing  can  be  supplied  more 
convincing  than  a  comparison  of  Luria  with  Othello^ 

Later  in  the  volume  Professor  Lounsbury  enforces 
his  general  verdict  by  a  dissection  of  the  plots  and 
characters  of  Browning's  plays. 

Everyone,  except  politicians,  must  regret  that  Mr. 
Birrell  is  now  mainly  busy  with  matters  away  from 
literature.  But  nobody  can  regret  that  he  has  deserted 
dramatic  criticism  ;  unless  indeed  it  might  have  led  him 
to  a  better  acquaintance  with  the  actual  theatre  and 
with  those  laws  of  the  drama  which  are  valid  always 
and  everywhere.  Why  is  it  that  English  men  of  letters, 
even  when  they  are  not  unsympathetic  and  contemp- 
tuous, go  so  wide  of  the  mark  when  they  speak  and 
write  of  the  drama?  The  question  is  of  the  first 
importance,  because  no  worthy  school  of  English  drama 
can  arise  till  it  is  not  only  supported  by  the  playgoing 
public,  but  is  also  backed  by  the  authority  of  literature. 
Even  the  "  rectification  by  the  masses,"  of  which  Goethe 
speaks,  is  mainly  brought  about  by  a  gradual  filtering 
through  to  them  of  such  sound  literary  judgment  as 
they  can  approve,  and  is  equally  endorsed  by  the 
common-sense  of  both  literary  men  and  playgoers. 
Therefore  it  is  urgent  that  literature  should  look  into 
the  matter,  and  say  the  right  and  fruitful  word  for  which 
the  modern  acted  drama  is  waiting. 


THE    LICENSING   AND   CENSORSHIP 
OF   PLAYS 


XVIII 

"the  licensing  chaos  in  theatres  and  music  halls" 

A  lecture  delivered  to  the  National  Sunday  League,  at  the  Alhambra 
Music  Hall,  on  Sunday  evening,  February  27th,  1910. 
Chairman,  Sir  Herbert  Tree. 

This  meeting  reminds  me  of  a  meeting  in  the  old 
St.  James's  Hall  in  the  autumn  of  1889,  when  I 
addressed  the  National  Sunday  League  on  behalf 
of  the  opening  of  the  National  Gallery  and  the  National 
Museums  on  Sundays.  I  am  to  address  you  to-night 
on  a  kindred  question ;  one  that  is,  I  believe,  of  even 
more  importance;  the  evening  amusements  of  the 
people  of  England.  I  want  you  to  feel  with  me  how 
very  important  it  is  that  any  attempt  to  raise  the 
character  and  quality  of  those  amusements  should 
not  be  interfered  with  by  any  useless  restrictions, 
akin  to  those  restrictions  which  a  few  years  ago 
shut  the  doors  of  our  Museums  and  Picture  Galleries 
on  Sunday.  I  want  you  to  feel  that  this  is  a  question 
of  the  same  kind,  that  it  is  quite  related  to  that  other 
question  which  the  National  Sunday  League  spent 
many  years  to  settle  on  the  only  firm  and  reasonable 
basis.  How  was  the  opening  of  the  Museums  and 
Picture  Galleries  carried  and  established?  By  an 
appeal  to  common-sense  and  to  fair  play  all  round. 
There  were  many  people  in  England  who  wished  to  go 
to  church  on  Sundays;  there  were  many  other  people 
who  wished  to  go  to  a  public-house ;  there  were  many 
other  people  who  wished  to  see  their  National  collec- 
tion of  pictures,  and  to  hear  fine  music.  There  were 
many  others  who  wished  to  do  some  two,  or  all  three 

269 


270    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

of  these  perfectly  reasonable  things.  Well,  in  the  end, 
it  was  found  that  the  people  who  wished  to  employ 
their  Sunday  leisure  in  these  reasonable  ways,  could 
not  be  thwarted  and  restricted  and  denied  without  the 
risk  of  great  and  increasing  disturbance.  It  suddenly 
occurred  to  the  government  that  there  was  a  very 
simple  way  out  of  the  difficulty,  and  that  was  to  allow 
those  people  who  wanted  to  go  to  church  to  go  there ; 
those  people  who  wanted  to  go  to  a  public-house 
to  go  there ;  and  those  people  who  wanted  to  see  our 
collection  of  pictures  to  see  them.  That  was  the  only 
solution.  It  was  the  simple  solution  of  common-sense 
and  fair  play  all  round.  Well,  now,  let  us  again  take 
common-sense  and  fair  play  all  round  as  our  guides, 
and  apply  them  to  the  regulation  of  the  people's  amuse- 
ments on  their  week-day  evenings. 

Inasmuch  as  theatres  and  music  halls  are  places 
where  intoxicating  liquors  are  sold;  inasmuch  also  as 
they  are  places  where  large  crowds  assemble,  and  there 
is  danger  of  fire  and  crushing;  inasmuch  also  as  they 
are  places  where  possibly  indecent  exhibitions  may  be 
held — for  all  these  three  reasons  it  is  necessary  that 
there  should  be  a  licence  to  regulate  them,  so  that  the 
Manager  may  be  held  responsible  for  anything  taking 
place  there  which  is  indecent,  or  dangerous,  or  harmful 
to  the  general  body  of  their  frequenters.  I  say  that 
there  is  no  doubt  that  a  licence — a  set  of  regulations  is 
necessary.  We  are  all  agreed  upon  that.  But  surely 
this  licence  ought  to  be  framed  with  the  idea,  and  in 
the  intention  of  not  stopping  or  thwarting  any  amuse- 
ment that  is  not  dangerous  or  harmful  or  indecent. 
Our  two  rules  in  framing  this  licence  ought  to  be  these  : 
"  Let  any  citizen  who  provides  amusement  for  his 
fellow  citizens  have  the  right  to  give  them  whatever 
amusement  he  thinks  they  want,  providing  only  that 
it  is  not  dangerous,  harmful  or  indecent.  Let  every 
citizen  who  wants  such  amusement  have  the  right  to 
go  where  it  is  provided."     That  seems  to  me  to  be  the 


LICENSING  CHAOS   IN  THEATRES       271 

only  way  in  which  a  licence  can  be  framed  according  to 
the  very  plain  dictates  of  common-sense  and  fair  play. 
Instead  of  licences  being  framed  and  issued  in  accord- 
ance with  that  very  simple  rule,  we  have  at  the  present 
moment  a  bewildering  and  mischievous  chaos  of  stupid 
restrictions.  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  that  chaos 
to  you,  for  I  should  only  keep  you  here  till  to-morrow 
morning,  and  then  I  could  not  give  you  any  clear  idea 
of  the  endless  and  futile  absurdities  that  cramp  and 
thwart  the  Managers  of  Theatres  and  Music  Halls,  and 
prevent  them  from  giving  the  average  citizen  the  harm- 
less or  intellectual  amusement  that  he  is  asking  for.  If 
I  do  not  tax  your  brains  beyond  endurance  I  will 
instance   a  few  of  them. 

The  Stage  Year  Book  shows  that  there  are  thirteen 
different  ways  of  licensing  Theatres  and  Music  Halls  in 
the  United  Kingdom, 

1.  A  Patent  Theatre. — The  origin  of  this  licence  was 

that  a  number  of  citizens  said  to  the  authorities, 
"We  have  a  very  respectable  company  who 
wish  to  represent  a  very  respectable  play,  and 
we  should  like  the  King  to  permit  our  theatre 
to  have  the  Royal  patent."  The  only  remaining 
patent  theatres  in  England  are  Covent  Garden, 
Drury  Lane,  the  Theatre  Royal,  Bath,  and  the 
Theatre  Royal,  Margate. 

2.  The  Lord  Chamberlain's  licence  for  stage  plays 

only,  and  for  the  sale  of  drink,  but  no 
smoking. 

3.  The  London  County  Council  licence  for  plays, 

but  no  drink. 

4.  The  London  County  Council  licence  for  plays 

and  drink. 

5.  The   London  County  Council  licence  for  plays 

and  drink  and  smoking. 

6.  The  London  County  Council  licence  for  variety 

entertainments,  and  smoking  without  drinks, 
and  without  plays  of  any  kind. 


272    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

7.  The  London  County  Council  licence  for  variety 

entertainments  and  drinking  and  smoking. 

8.  In  the  Provinces  there  are  similar  licences  issued 

by  the  local  authorities  with  the  occasional 
privilege  of  giving  distinct  kinds  of  perform- 
ances in  the  same  building. 

9.  Dublin. — The  theatres  are  under  the  control  of 

the  Lord-Lieutenant. 

10.  The  rest  of  Ireland  is  under  the  approval  of  the 

local  magistrates. 

11.  The  Isle  of  Man. — A  licence  is  obtained  from  the 

House  of  Keys. 

12.  In  Glasgow,  the  theatres  are  licensed  with  no  sale 

of  drink  after  ten.  Judging  from  the  national 
habits  this  seems  to  be  a  distinct  encourage- 
ment to  the  audience  to  miss  the  earlier  acts 
and  to  get  drunk  while  they  have  time. 

13.  The  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Theatres   are   con- 

trolled by  the  University  authorities. 

In  London  the  Court  Theatre  is  the  only  West  End 
house  not  under  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  because  it 
happens  to  be  outside  a  boundary  line;  therefore  it  has 
a  licence  from  the  London  County  Council. 

A  man  may  build  a  beautiful  playhouse,  such  as  the 
Scala,  and  under  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  licence  he  is 
helplessly  restricted  to  stage  plays ;  while  a  patent 
theatre  like  Covent  Garden  to  the  good  and  gain  of  the 
manager  and  of  the  public,  may  at  any  time  be  either  a 
circus,  or  a  playhouse,  or  an  opera  house,  or  a  concert 
hall,  or  a  variety  house,  or  a  dancing  saloon.  Is  that 
common-sense?  Is  that  fair  play  to  the  other  theatres 
and  music  halls? 

The  Camden  Theatre  was  opened  as  a  theatre,  and 
like  most  theatres  in  these  bad  days  it  didn't  pay.  So 
it  was  sold  to  a  Music  Hall  Syndicate.  They  opened 
it  with  a  variety  performance.  A  common  informer 
sought  the  parish  constable  of  Camden  Town,  who  is, 
it  seems,  the  legal  authority  to  institute  proceedings. 


LICENSING  CHAOS  IN  THEATRES       273 

But  that  venerable  and  potent  functionary,  the  parish 
constable  of  Camden  Town,  could  not  be  found.  The 
case  was,  however,  tried  and  the  theatre  closed.  It  was 
re-opened  with  a  cinematograph  and  an  electric  piano. 
Down  came  the  common  informer  again  and  said,  "  You 
are  not  licensed  for  music."  The  manager  said  an 
electric  piano  was  not  music;  but  this  unanswerable 
plea  did  not  serve.  He  was  fined  forty  shillings,  and 
was  told  he  ought  to  be  fined  four  hundred  pounds,  for 
providing  harmless  amusement  for  his  fellow  citizens. 
And  again  the  theatre  was  closed.  Is  that  common- 
sense  ?     Is  that  fair  play  ? 

Hengler's  Circus  was  able  for  some  time  to  present 
many  varied  forms  of  entertainment ;  but  the  Princess's 
and  Scala  theatres,  a  few  yards  away,  remain  closed 
because  they  may  only  produce  stage  plays.  Is  that 
common-sense?     Is  that  fair  play ? 

A  touring  pantomime  found  it  was  legal  to  give 
their  complete  performance  in  a  certain  music  hall — 
the  following  week  in  another  music  hall  they  had  to 
cut  it  up  into  variety  turns,  to  conform  to  that  par- 
ticular music  hall  licence.  Is  that  common-sense  ?  Is 
that  fair  play  ? 

The  Coliseum  about  four  years  ago  held  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  licence,  and  therefore  could  not  legally 
perform  variety  entertainments.  The  management 
therefore  dished  up  all  the  music  hall  turns  into  some 
semblance  of  a  play  by  supposing  an  Uncle  Gregory 
to  be  giving  a  party;  and  Uncle  Gregory  had  to  invite 
each  group  of  performers  including  the  elephants  to 
entertain  the  children.  Is  that  common-sense?  Is 
that  fair  play  ? 

The  Aldwych  was  forced  to  have  a  play  written  at 
five  minutes'  notice  to  cover  and  include  the  perform- 
ance of  a  famous  American  band.  The  Scala,  under 
the  management  of  the  Variety  Artists'  Federation, 
had  to  provide  a  play  to  introduce  a  succession  of 
music-hall    stars   who,   under    this    subterfuge,    could 

T 


274    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

give  their  ordinary  performance.  Is  that  common- 
sense  ?   Is  that  fair  play  ? 

The  Marlborough  Theatre,  HoUoway,  can  only  pro- 
duce stage  plays,  and  must  prohibit  smoking.  At  the 
Crouch  End  Theatre,  a  short  distance  away,  which 
happens  to  be  outside  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  boundary, 
you  may  smoke  and  see  any  kind  of  entertainment,  play 
or  varieties.     Is  that  common-sense  ?     Is  that  fair  play  ? 

Now  you  know  that  it  is  quite  illegal  for  music  halls 
to  produce  any  stage  play  of  any  length ;  but  under  the 
illegal  agreement  between  theatre  managers  and  music- 
hall  proprietors — which  was  condoned  by  our  Chairman 
— (I  am  grieved  to  point  him  out  as  a  law-breaker) 
under  this  illegal  agreement  Oscar  Wilde's  "  Florentine 
Tragedy"  and  Shakespearean  scenes  are  performed  at 
music  halls.  But  theatres  may  not  introduce  songs  or 
dances  unless  they  are  part  of  the  play.  Is  that  common- 
sense  ?     Is  that  fair  play  ? 

A  sketch  recently  seen  in  the  music  halls  is  now 
played  at  a  West  End  theatre,  and  several  one-act  plays 
recently  seen  at  West  End  theatres  are  now  given  at  the 
Halls.  Both  performances  are  illegal.  Is  that  common- 
sense?     Is  that  fair  play  ? 

In  a  well-known  seaside  town  the  local  entertain- 
ment provider  at  both  theatre  and  music  hall  is  a 
most  important  property  owner  and  has  no  difficulty 
in  presenting  any  form  of  amusement,  thus  establish- 
ing a  profitable  monopoly  ;  whereas  a  stranger  wanting 
to  build  a  new  place  of  amusement  would  probably 
experience  great  opposition.  Is  that  common-sense? 
Is  that  fair  play? 

In  Blackpool  a  circus,  concert  hall,  theatre,  dancing 
hall,  restaurant,  and  general  amusement  building,  are 
combined  as  at  our  Crystal  Palace  ;  in  other  towns  the 
theatre  is  handicapped  by  being  able  to  present  only 
stage  plays.     Is  that  common-sense?     Is  that  fair  play ? 

In  Harrogate  the  ratepayers  have  built  their  own 
concert  hall  and  theatre,  and  voted  themselves  a  free 


LICENSING  CHAOS   IN   THEATRES       275 

licence  to  give  any  sort  of  programme ;  but  the  Opera 
House  hard  by  may  only  give  stage  plays.  Is  that 
common-sense  ?     Is  that  fair  play  ? 

Music-hall  managers  are  everywhere  giving  per- 
formances of  plays  not  exceeding  thirty  minutes,  and 
not  having  more  than  six  characters.  These  perform- 
ances are  illegal,  and  they  are  liable  to  prosecution  if 
any  common  informer  brings  an  action  against  them. 
They  are,  however,  winked  at  by  the  authorities.  But 
if  any  dramatic  author  produces  a  play  lasting  thirty-five 
minutes  and  with  seven  characters  he  would  be  pro- 
secuted by  the  same  authorities.  Is  that  common- 
sense  ?     Is  that  fair  play  ? 

On  the  other  hand,  if  Sir  Herbert  Tree  wished  to 
give  a  high-class  variety  entertainment  at  His  Majesty's 
— say  an  entertainment  consisting  of  a  troupe  of  five 
dancers,  a  song  by  a  prima  donna,  a  solo  by  a  violinist, 
and  a  play  of  an  hour  in  the  middle — he  would  be  liable 
to  prosecution.  Is  that  common-sense?  Is  it  fair 
play  ?  Is  it  anything  but  sheer,  blind,  wilful  imbecility  ? 
Is  it  not  putting  handcuffs  on  artistic  and  intellectual 
amusement  ? 

These  are  some  of  the  features  of  this  confusion 
worse  confounded  that  prevails  throughout  the  amuse- 
ment world  all  over  the  country. 

I  want  to  know  what  you  citizens  of  London  would 
say  if  next  Sunday  morning,  when  you  take  a  walk 
across  Hyde  Park,  you  found  that  the  Authorities  had 
stuck  up  barbed  wire  enclosures  all  across  the  main 
paths  and  thoroughfares,  with  policemen  stationed 
at  each  of  them  to  warn  off  any  peaceable  citizen 
who  wanted  to  walk  from  the  Marble  Arch  to  the 
Serpentine  ? 

"  You  can't  go  down  that  path.  Take  your  wife  and 
family  the  other  way." 

Well,  you  take  them  another  wa}'-  round,  and  you 
find  the  same  barbed  wire  across  another  path,  and  you 
find  another  policeman  saying — 


276    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

"You  can't  go  along  there.     Come  off  that  path." 

And  you  say,  "Why?  It  is  a  public  path,  is  it 
not?" 

"  Come  off  that  path ! " 

"  Why  ?  "  you  peaceably  ask. 

"  Well,  the  authorities  have  rigged  it  up  with  barbed 
wire,  and  you  cannot  go  across." 

"  But  why  have  the  authorities  put  up  that  barbed 
wire  ?  "  you  ask.     "  What  is  the  reason  ?  " 

"  They  haven't  got  any  reason.  They've  put  up  the 
barbed  wire.     You  come  off!" 

If  that  took  place  in  Hyde  Park,  I  think  the  citizens 
of  London  would  very  soon  make  short  work  of  that 
barbed  wire  and  those  fences.  But  the  result  of  our 
present  systems  of  licensing  amusement  is  quite  as 
obstructive  to  the  ordinary  rights  of  the  citizens.  All 
across  our  evening  hours  of  leisure — the  only  time 
when  we  may  be  said  to  live — all  across  these  evening 
hours  of  leisure  the  English  law  has  stuck  the  barbed 
wire  of  senseless  and  indefensible  restrictions.  If  you 
ask  the  reason,  there  may,  indeed,  be  some  sort  of  a 
reason  why  the  barbed  wire  fence  was  once  put  there, 
but  there  is  no  reason  on  earth  why  you  should  not 
pull  it  down,  and  use  your  own  public  way. 

Many  of  these  needless  and  indefensible  restrictions 
have  grown  up  from  the  fact  that  our  music  halls  and 
theatres  had  an  entirely  different  origin.  Our  English 
drama  had  its  origin  in  the  period  of  the  Renascence, 
and  came,  as  you  know,  from  the  old  morality  plays, 
and  from  the  mummeries  that  grew  round  Church 
feasts  and  Church  holidays.  It  is  not  certain  at  what 
date  the  Lord  Chamberlain  first  began  to  exercise  a 
censorship  over  stage  plays,  but  the  records  of  his 
office  show  that  as  early  as  1628,  the  Lord  Chamberlain, 
either  personally,  or  through  the  Master  of  Revels, 
licensed  theatres,  and  closed  them,  and  exercised  a 
general  supervision  over  the  work  of  the  dramatist. 

These  powers  sprang  from  the  Royal  prerogative, 


LICENSING   CHAOS   IN   THEATRES       277 

but  in  1737  the  censorship  became  a  statutory  function 
of  the  Lord  Chamberlain.  Our  great  Henry  Fielding 
had  been  writing  political  plays,  and  had  put  on  the 
stage  political  personages.  This  became  so  offensive 
to  Sir  Robert  Walpole  that  he  brought  in  a  law  which 
constituted  the  Lord  Chamberlain  licenser  of  theatres 
within  the  city  and  liberties  of  Westminster,  and 
wherever  the  Sovereign  might  reside.  That  law  em- 
powered the  Lord  Chamberlain  to  prohibit,  at  any 
time  and  anywhere  in  Great  Britain,  a  performance  of 
any  play;  and  it  imposed  heavy  penalties  on  those 
who  should  perform  any  play  in  an  unlicensed  theatre, 
or  any  prohibited  play,  or  any  new  play  without  the 
sanction  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  or  of  letters  patent 
from  the  Crown.  Ever  since  then  our  plays  all  over 
the  country  have  been  licensed  and  played  according 
to  the  judgment,  or  mercy,  or  caprice  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain ;  according  as  he  liked  to  open  his  eyes 
or  to  close  them ;  according  as  he  knows  and  cares,  or 
does  not  know  or  care  anything  about  the  drama. 

Now,  the  music-hall  entertainment  arose  in  quite  a 
different  way.  Before  175 1  there  was  no  regulation  of 
entertainments  outside  the  theatre.  To  show  how  the 
regulations  for  our  present  London  music  halls  arose, 
I  cannot  do  better  than  quote  to  you  the  preamble  to 
the  Act  of  175 1,  which  was  the  date  when  they  became 
subject  to  legal  supervision.  The  preamble  to  that  Act 
reads  as  follows  : — 

"  And  whereas  the  multitude  of  places  of  entertain- 
ment for  the  lower  sort  of  people  is  another  great  cause 
of  thefts  and  robberies,  as  they  are  thereby  tempted  to 
spend  their  small  substance  in  riotous  pleasures,  and  in 
consequence  to  put  on  unlawful  methods  of  supplying 
their  wants  and  renewing  their  pleasures ;  in  order 
therefore  to  prevent  the  said  temptation  to  thefts  and 
robberies,  and  to  correct  as  far  as  may  be  the  habit  of 
idleness,  which  has  become  too  general  over  the  whole 
kingdom,  and  is  productive  of  much  mischief  and  in- 
convenience, be  it  enacted  'Any  house,  room,  garden 


2/8    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

or  other  place  kept  for  public  dancing,  music  or  other 
public  entertainment  of  the  like  kind  in  the  city  of 
London  or  Westminster,  or  within  twenty  miles  thereof, 
without  a  licence,  had  for  that  purpose  from  the  last 
preceding  Michaelmas  Quarter  Sessions  of  the  Peace 
to  be  holden  for  the  county  in  which  said  house,  room, 
garden  or  other  place  is  situate,  as  signified  under  the 
hands  and  seals  of  four  or  more  of  the  Justices  there 
assembled,  shall  be  deemed  a  disorderly  house  or  place, 
and  every  person  keeping  such  house,  room,  etc.,  with- 
out such  licence  as  aforesaid  shall  forfeit  the  sum  of 
£ioo  and  be  otherwise  punishable  as  the  law  directs  in 
the  case  of  disorderly  houses.'" 

You  will  see  from  this,  that  until  within  the  last 
generation  there  was  a  very  definite  line  between  the 
theatre  and  the  music  hall.  There  was  a  legal  line 
of  demarcation  which  gave  the  theatre  the  absolute 
right  to  the  performance  of  stage  plays.  There  was  a 
further  line  of  demarcation  in  the  character  of  the  enter- 
tainments given  at  music  halls,  which  were  generally 
of  a  rather  low,  disreputable,  and  sometimes  indecent 
character.  There  was  also  a  pretty  general  line  of 
demarcation  between  the  audiences  who  attended  the 
theatre  and  the  music  hall  respectively.  So  that  until 
about  a  generation  ago  there  was  a  reason  for  the  sepa- 
rate licensing  and  the  separate  regulation  of  the  theatre 
and  the  music  hall. 

Now,  there  is  perhaps  something  to  be  said  for  the 
legal  reservation  of  the  theatre  as  the  sole  place  where 
stage  plays  can  be  performed.  The  main  argument 
against  it  is,  that  it  is  quite  unworkable  in  our  present 
circumstances  and  conditions.  Gradually,  during  the 
last  generation,  the  music  halls  have  raised  the 
character  of  their  entertainments,  and  have  drawn  a 
more  and  more  respectable  class.  During  that  time 
they  have  illegally  more  and  more  encroached  on  the 
rights  and  reservations  of  the  theatre. 

The  improvement  of  the  music-hall  entertainment  took 
place  when  music  halls  began  the  illicit  performances  of 


LICENSING  CHAOS   IN   THEATRES       279 

sketches  and  little  plays.  I  believe  that  improvement 
(a  very  surprising  improvement  when  we  remember 
what  music  halls  were  thirty  years  ago)  is  largely 
due  to  their  performance  of  stage  plays.  You  know 
that,  at  first,  these  sketches  being  illegal,  were  prose- 
cuted, and  the  managers  of  the  music  halls  were  heavily 
fined.  These  prosecutions  were  instituted  until  it 
became  very  evident  that  it  was  impossible  to  prevent 
the  performance  of  sketches  in  the  music  halls.  If 
these  prosecutions  were  continued,  it  is  estimated  that 
at  the  present  time  there  would  be  150,000  of  them 
annually.  The  law-breaking  has  become  so  frequent 
and  so  respectable,  that  it  is  quite  useless  to  continue 
proceedings  against  the  law-breakers.  Upon  this  point 
the  recent  report  of  the  Censorship  Committee  contains 
these  very  significant  words  : 

"The.  performance  of  sketches  in  music  halls  is  a 
practice  too  firmly  established  to  be  uprooted,  nor  is 
there  any  reason  why  the  public  which  frequents  music 
halls  should  be  deprived,  by  force  of  law,  of  the  pleasure 
of  witnessing  whatever  form  of  entertainment  those 
who  cater  for  their  amusement  are  able  to  provide. 

"  We  believe,  and  we  are  supported  in  this  belief  by 
the  evidence  given  before  us  by  many  of  those  best 
qualified  to  speak  in  the  interest  of  the  serious  drama 
that  the  competition  of  the  variety  stage  is  not  likely, 
appreciably,  to  affect  the  well-being  of  those  forms  of 
British  drama  which  are  entitled  to  solicitude." 

Let  us  go  back  for  a  moment  to  our  rule  of  common- 
sense  and  fair  play.  What  do  common-sense  and  fair 
play  indicate  as  the  only  simple  way  of  meeting  our 
difficulties  ?  It  is  the  way  indicated  by  the  report  of 
the  Censorship  Committee,  namely,  to  abolish  the 
present  legal  differentiation  between  the  theatre  and 
the  music  hall,  and  to  allow  each  to  present  whatever 
form  of  entertainment  it  desires.  I  believe  that  what- 
ever differences  of  opinion  there  may  have  been  about 
other  points,  the  Censorship  Committee  were  unani- 
mous in  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  no  other 


28o    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

way  out  of  the  present  entanglement.  There  is  no 
other  way  of  allowing  each  provider  of  entertainment  to 
give  to  his  various  patrons  the  best  that  he  can  provide. 

The  Theatre  Royal,  Dublin,  is  licensed  by  the  Lord- 
Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  and  is  allowed  to  present  to  the 
public  whatever  entertainment  the  manager  may  find 
advisable  and  profitable. 

This  common-sense  arrangement  has  allowed  him  to 
give  a  dramatic  season  of  high-class  plays  at  a  time  of 
the  year  when  his  patrons  want  them.  It  has  allowed 
him  to  give  a  variety  entertainment  when  his  patrons 
ask  for  a  variety  entertainment ;  it  has  allowed  him 
to  give  a  hippodrome  entertainment  in  the  summer, 
when  that  form  of  entertainment  is  most  suitable  to 
the  weather  and  to  the  tastes  of  his  patrons.  The 
result  of  this  common-sense  arrangement  has  been  that 
the  drama  has  prospered  in  Dublin,  the  theatre  has 
paid,  and  the  manager  has  secured  a  handsome  dividend 
for  the  shareholders. 

I  can  only  ask  again,  why  this  common-sense  arrange- 
ment should  not  be  in  practice  in  every  music  hall  and 
theatre  in  the  kingdom. 

I  have  confined  myself  to-night  to  the  question  of 
the  one  licence,  because  it  would  be  very  easy  to  pass 
a  short  Act  of  Parliament  legalizing  all  stage  plays  in 
music  halls,  and  legalizing  all  kinds  of  entertainments 
in  theatres.  Of  course,  the  matter  is  complicated  with 
the  Censorship  question.  I  have  not  touched  on  that 
to-night,  but  perhaps  at  some  future  time  I  may  ask 
you  to  give  me  half  an  hour  to  explain  to  you  what 
the  Censorship  of  plays  really  means. 

The  question  of  the  one  licence  is  also  deeply  com- 
plicated with  the  question  of  Sunday  recreation  gene- 
rally ;  that  also  is  a  matter  which  we  cannot  touch  upon 
to-night.  But  seeing  that  it  is  involved  with  your  own 
Sunday  question,  I  will  ask  you  not  to  rest  until  the 
licensing  matter  is  settled  in  the  only  way  that  it  can  be 
settled  in  conformity  with  our  rule  of  common-sense  and 


LICENSING  CHAOS  IN  THEATRES       281 

fair  play  all  round.  I  ask  you  not  to  rest  until  every 
theatre  and  music  hall  in  the  kingdom  has  letters 
patent  from  you  as  playgoers  to  give  and  perform 
whatever  entertainment  the  manager  may  choose  and 
the  audiences  may  wish  to  see ;  the  only  restriction 
being  that  such  entertainment  shall  not  be  indecent,  or 
dangerous,  or  harmful  to  the  general  public. 


XIX 

THE   CENSORSHIP   MUDDLE   AND   A   WAY   OUT   OF   IT 

A  letter  addressed  to  the  Right  Honourable  Herbert  Samuel,  Chair- 
man of  the  Committee  to  examine  the  working  of  the  present 
Censorship  of  Plays  (September,  1909). 

Sir, 

Upon  the  assembling  of  your  Committee  to  inquire 
into  the  working  of  our  present  system  of  the  Censor- 
ship of  Plays,  Mr.  Herbert  Thring,  the  secretary  of  the 
Society  of  Authors,  acting,  as  I  understood,  upon  a 
communication  from  you,  asked  me  to  attend  upon  the 
first  Thursday  of  your  sitting,  to  give  evidence  before 
you,  and  to  prepare  a  copy  of  my  evidence  beforehand. 
I  had,  however,  settled  to  leave  town  before  that  date, 
and  I  could  not  fall  in  with  Mr.  Thring's  suggestion, 
without  interrupting  some  important  business  arrange- 
ments I  had  made  for  the  autumn.  1  was  therefore 
obliged  to  decline  the  invitation  for  that  date,  thinking 
that,  perhaps,  a  later  opportunity  of  appearing  before 
you  might  offer  itself  However,  I  read  in  the  papers 
that  on  Friday  last  you  closed  the  inquiry  so  far  as 
regards  the  taking  of  evidence.  After  the  long  and 
patient  hearing  your  Committee  has  given  to  various 
interests  and  opinions,  I  am  very  loth  to  trespass  further 
upon  your  time  and  convenience.  But  as  the  matter 
is  of  some  moment  both  to  the  public  and  to  dramatists, 
may  I  in  the  form  of  a  letter  which  need  not  much  inter- 
fere with  3'^our  deliberations,  or  long  delay  them — may  I, 
sir,  with  the  greatest  respect,  bring  before  you  and  your 

282 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    283 

Committee  certain  considerations  which  seem  to  me  of 
much  importance  in  the  final  settlement  of  the  matter? 

I  am  the  more  encouraged  to  do  this,  inasmuch  as 
even  a  very  casual  review  of  the  evidence  you  have 
taken,  clarifies  the  whole  atmosphere,  and  brings  into 
startling  prominence  two  or  three  salient  landmarks 
which  indicate  the  course  that  must  surely  be  followed, 
sooner  or  later.  May  I,  then,  very  deferentially  call 
your  attention  to  a  most  striking  fact  which  has  doubt- 
less made  its  due  impression  on  your  Committee,  the 
fact  that  while  you  have  been  giving  your  valuable 
time  for  the  past  two  months  to  determine  what  is  to 
be  done  with  the  Censor  at  such  well-conducted 
theatres  as  His  Majesty's,  the  St.  James's,  and  the 
Haymarket — during  all  this  time,  every  music  hall  and 
variety  theatre  in  the  United  Kingdom,  even  to  the 
lowest,  has  been  acting  uncensored  plays  without  a 
single  repiroach,  without  so  far  as  I  am  aware  a  single 
complaint  having  been  made?  According  to  different 
estimates  four  to  six  hundred  of  these  plays  are  on  an 
average  enacted  nightly  in  Great  Britain.  Many  hun- 
dreds of  new  ones  are  enacted  annually.  During  the 
past  ten  or  fifteen  years  these  plays  and  sketches  at 
music-halls  have  been  irresistibly  gaining  wider  and 
wider  vogue  and  countenance,  with  such  solid  public 
support  as  must  soon  end  in  their  complete  legaliza- 
tion. During  that  fifteen  years  many  thousands  of 
these  little  plays  have  been  performed  in  all  parts  of 
the  kingdom.  How  many  complaints  have  been 
heard?  How  many  summonses  have  been  taken  out 
on  the  ground  of  indecency  or  immorality?  I  have  not 
heard  of  one.  If  any  prosecutions  have  taken  place,  if 
any  commotions  have  been  stirred,  they  have  been  so 
rare  and  so  insignificant  that  not  a  rumour  of  one  has 
reached  me.  Doubtless  many  of  these  plays  have  been 
crude  and  illiterate  and  horribly  vulgar,  and  doubtless 
some  of  them  have  slipped  from  indelicacy  into  in- 
decency.     But    while    frank   indecency   can   be   easily 


284    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A    NATIONAL  DRAMA 

dealt  with,  nobody  proposes  to  censor  (if  you  will 
pass  a  necessary  verb)  crudeness,  illiteracy,  indelicacy, 
and  vulgarity.  And  if  they  are  to  be  censored,  surely 
we  ought  to  begin  with  some  of  our  West  End  theatres. 
For  smirking  vulgarities  and  veiled  indecencies  are  not 
wholly  absent  from  some  of  our  censored  West  End 
theatres,  and  were  to  be  found  in  an  entertainment 
mentioned  with  approval  by  one  of  your  witnesses. 
Further,  when  some  years  back  a  public  man  was  the 
cause  of  a  loud  scandal,  the  various  ditties  sung  at 
music  halls,  though  they  were  broadly  indelicate  and 
terribly  vulgar,  made  entirely  for  morality,  seeing  that 
they  showed  vice  ridiculous  with  as  unsparing  a  lash  as 
Mr.  Puff  would  have  wielded  in  the  problem  play  which 
he  proposed  to  write  in  order  to  show  housebreaking 
in  an  absurd  light  to  burglars. 

To  sum  up  on  this  point — surely  the  fact  that  for  all 
these  years  past,  thousands  of  uncensored  plays  have 
been  performed  in  all  parts  of  this  kingdom  without, 
so  far  as  one  remembers,  a  single  prosecution  or  even 
a  single  complaint  on  the  score  of  immorality  or  in- 
decency ;  that  is  to  say,  with  less  scandal  and  with  less 
reproach  than  has  attended  the  various  performances 
of  clergymen  during  the  same  period — surely  this  single 
fact  furnishes  by  itself  overwhelming  proof  that  English 
playgoers  and  amusement  seekers  do  not  need  a  Censor 
to  protect  them  from  their  dramatists,  but  that  they  are 
competent  themselves  to  judge  us  and,  when  it  is 
necessary,  to  condemn  us. 

You  have  taken  the  evidence  of  dramatists,  court 
officials,  journalists,  critics,  men  of  letters,  and  others 
more  or  less  interested  and  self-interested  in  this  ques- 
tion. But  I  noticed  what  seemed  to  me  a  very  grave, 
but  perhaps  unavoidable  omission  from  the  numbers 
of  those  who  came  before  you.  Those  who  are  mainly 
concerned  were  scarcely  represented  at  all — I  mean 
English  playgoers.  It  would  have  been  tiresome  to 
hear  a  representation  from  each  of  the  many  classes 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    285 

of  theatre  goers.  But  seeing  that  up  to  the  present, 
English  playgoers  have  not  been  heard  at  all  before 
you,  and  seeing  that  they  are  the  chief  party  in  the 
proceedings,  may  I  very  respectfully  present  myself 
here  on  their  behalf?  And  may  I  beg  you,  if  it  is 
not  too  late,  to  consider  the  evidence  I  have  laid  before 
you,  summing  up  the  experience  of  many  millions 
of  them  for  many  years,  and  all  of  it  conclusively 
testifying  that  they  neither  want  nor  need  a  Censor? 
There  has  naturally  been  much  conflict  and  confusion 
in  the  opinions  of  your  various  witnesses;  but  here, 
at  least,  is  a  solid  body  of  testimony  speaking  in  the 
loudest,  clearest  voice  the  unanimous  opinion  ;of 
those  who  have  the  first  right  to  be  consulted.  If 
that  evidence  is  not  convincing,  then  evidence  is  use- 
less. The  question  will  not  be  settled  by  evidence  and 
reason,  but  confusion  and  prejudice  and  vested  interests 
will  be  left  to  reign  over  it. 

Another  salient  point  that  stands  out  fromjthe  mass 
of  evidence  gathered  by  your  Committee  is  the  very 
curious  one  that  all  the  pleas  for  the  retention  of  the 
Censor  (so  far  as  the  matter  is  one  of  morality  and  not 
of  business  interest  or  political  expediency) — all  these 
pleas  may  be  easily  and  logically  developed  into  one 
unanswerable  argument  for  the  censorship  of  the  Bible 
and  Shakespeare,  and  for  the  excision  and  suppression 
of  many  of  their  most  moving  and  characteristic  pass- 
ages and  precepts.  Now  it  may  be  advisable,  it  may 
even  be  necessary,  to  alter  our  intertwined  national 
standards  of  religion,  morality,  and  literature.  That 
is  a  matter  for  thoughtful  consideration.  May  I  beg 
your  Committee  to  note  that  all  these  pleas  for  the 
retention  of  the  Censorship  ought  logically  to  be 
fastened  to,  must  implicitly  be  fastened  to,  the  con- 
viction that  an  alteration  of  our  national  standards  is 
a  necessity?  No  modern  serious  English  dramatist  has 
claimed  nearly  so  great  a  freedom  as  is  found  in  almost 
every  book  of  the  Bible,  and  in  every  play  of  Shakespeare. 


286    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

It  may  be  that  our  revered  national  standards  are  all 
entirely  wrong.  Let  us,  then,  haul  them  down,  and 
overhaul  them,  and  re-overhaul  them,  and  if  they  are 
found  to  be  unsuitable  and  misleading,  let  us  adopt 
and  hoist  aloft  national  standards  suitable  to  our  age. 
But  till  that  is  done  why  harry  us  poor  modern  play- 
wrights ?  Why  persecute  us  petty  offenders  and  let  the 
arch  criminals,  Moses,  Samuel,  David,  Solomon,  Chaucer, 
Shakespeare,  Fielding,  and  Sterne,  go  uncensored,  un- 
tried, and  unhung? 

It  may  be  said  that  I  am  confusing  the  issue  so  often 
raised,  and  made  so  much  of  during  your  inquiry — the 
distinction  between  the  word  spoken  and  the  deed  acted 
in  public  on  the  one  hand;  and  on  the  other  hand,  the 
word  read  and  the  deed  described  in  a  book.  Sir 
William  Gilbert,  whom  I  salute  with  great  courtesy, 
would  retain  the  Censor  because  in  a  book  the  author 
may,  without  giving  offence,  say  that  Eliza  undressed 
herself  and  took  a  bath  ;  while  on  the  stage  the  author 
may  not  direct  Eliza  to  undress  herself  and  take  a  bath 
without  giving  offence.  Now  it  is  possible  that  in  a 
book  the  author  might  describe  Eliza  and  her  actions 
and  methods  while  undressing  herself  and  taking  a  bath 
at  such  length,  and  with  such  voluptuous  or  disgusting 
particulars  and  associations  as  to  arouse  in  the  reader 
the  exact  sensations  that  would  be  aroused  in  spectators 
by  seeing  the  same  actions  on  the  stage.  In;that  case 
author  and  publisher  would  be  prosecuted  by  the 
common  law  of  the  land,  and  sent  to  prison,  and  the 
book  would  be  destroyed.  And  there  would  then  be  a 
parallel  between  that  author  and  publisher,  and  the 
author  and  manager  who  showed  Eliza  taking  her  bath 
on  the  stage.  And  these  latter  would  equally  be  pro- 
secuted by  the  common  law  of  the  land  and  sent  to 
prison.  Otherwise  there  is  no  point  whatever  in  Sir 
William's  comparison.  It  does  not  even  exist.  Besides, 
what  manager  proposes  to  show  Eliza  taking  her  bath? 
Until  such  depraved  lunatics  become  common  in  English 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    287 

management,  there  is  not  the  least  value  or  meaning  in 
Sir  William's  illustration.  We  will  very  gratefully  re- 
member the  many  times  Sir  William  has  amused  us 
with  better  jests,  and  gently  affirm  that  the  question  of 
the  Censorship  is  not  to  be  settled  by  a  jest,  even  if  it 
were  apt  and  relevant.  But  the  distinction  between  the 
word  spoken  and  acted  on  the  stage  and  the  word  read 
in  the  library  has  already  been  argued  before  you. 
There  was  no  difficulty  in  showing  that  it  is  an  error 
to  claim  that  a  book  dealing  vividly  with  certain  matters 
is  comparatively  harmless  and  ineffective,  and  that  a 
play  dealing  in  a  kindred  way  with  the  same  matters  is 
harmful  and  polluting.  The  truth  is,  as  any  one  can 
see  who  takes  the  trouble  to  examine  the  matter  that 
the  corrupt  book  is  likely  to  be  far  more  pernicious  and 
operative  than  the  corrupt  play.  We  are  all  virtuous 
in  public— sometimes  we  a  little  overdo  it ;  and  to  show 
how  very  virtuous  we  are,  we  scream  out  before  we  are 
really  hurt.  Thus  a  play,  by  the  very  reason  that  it  is 
performed  in  public,  that  it  is  more  alive,  instantly 
rouses  us  and  challenges  us,  and  if  any  one  is  shocked 
he  instantly  declares  it,  and  wakes  up  all  the  latent 
virtue  in  his  less  sensitive  neighbours.  But  a  book 
works  more  slowly  and  subtly  ;  it  can  be  brooded  over ; 
there  is  much  the  same  difference  between  a  corrupt 
book  and  a  corrupt  play  that  there  is  between  secret 
drinking  and  a  carouse  in  a  tavern.  Both  are  bad,  but 
the  secret  drinking  is  far  the  more  harmful.  Eliza  taking 
her  bath  in  a  book  and  described  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
render  Sir  William  Gilbert's  comparison  valid,  is  really 
a  far  more  insidious  baggage  than  Eliza  taking  her  bath 
on  the  stage ;  while  Eliza  taking  her  bath  before  a  com- 
pany of  art  students  and  posing  as  Diana  would  probably 
not  be  harmful  at  all. 

There  is,  then,  some  distinction  to  be  drawn  between 
words  and  actions  spoken  and  performed  on  the  stage, 
and  the  corresponding  words  and  descriptions  in  a 
book ;  but  the  difference  so  far  as  morality  goes  is  all  in 


288    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

favour  of  the  outspoken  word  and  action.  And  every 
argument  advanced  on  this  ground  for  the  retention 
of  the  Censor  is  really  an  argument  in  favour  of  his 
abolition. 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  is  there,  then,  no  way  of  stop- 
ping the  performance  of  obviously  lewd  and  indecent 
plays?  Yes,  I  shall  come  to  it  by-and-by.  And  what 
about  the  exhibition  of  indecent  posturing  and  dancing? 
I  shall  come  to  that  also  by-and-by,  and  I  shall  show 
that  effective  measures  taken  to  stop  indecent  dancing  and 
posturing  necessitate  the  abolition  of  the  Censor, 

Returning  to  the  consideration  of  the  salient  features 
brought  out  by  a  review  of  the  evidence  given  before 
your  Committee,  one  is  startled  by  the  instances  given 
of  the  confusions,  caprices,  anomalies,  and  futilities  of 
the  Censorship  as  it  is  shown  in  actual  working.  If  we 
were  to  try  to  get  one  great  permanent  rule  to  govern 
our  judgment  in  this  matter,  if  an  appointed  Censor 
were  to  search  for  one  sure  principle  to  guide  his 
decisions,  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  better,  shorter, 
or  more  universal  maxim  than  is  contained  in  George 
Meredith's  line  (slightly  paraphrased)—"  It  is  deeply 
conceived — it  cannot  be  immoral."  With  this  rule  in 
our  minds,  let  us  briefly  glance  at  the  recent  decisions 
of  the  Censorship.  I  call  them  decisions  of  the  Censor- 
ship, so  as  to  dissociate  the  office  from  the  man.  What 
are  the  most  notable  plays  and  authors  that  have  been 
refused  a  licence  by  the  Censorship  in  recent  years? 
They  are  as  follows  : — 

"  The  Cenci,"  by  Shelley. 

"CEdipus  Tyrannus,"  by  Sophocles. 

"Ghosts,"  by  Ibsen. 

"  Monna  Vanna,"  by  Maeterlinck. 

"Mrs.  Warren's   Profession,"  "The  Showing  up  of 
Blanco  Posnet,"  and  "  Press  Notices,"  by  Bernard  Shaw. 

"The  three  Daughters  of  M.  Dupont,"  and  "  Mater- 
nite,"  by  Brieux. 

"  Waste,"  by  Granville  Barker. 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    289 

If  the  Censor  had  deliberately  set  out  to  prove  that 
the  Censorship  is  at  once  disastrous  and  absurd,  could 
he  have  acted  otherwise  than  to  veto  these  plays  ? 
We  will  omit  "  Press  Notices,"  which  was  probably 
designed  by  the  author  with  the  intent  of  showing  how 
small  a  fly  would  catch  so  considerable  a  fish  as  the 
Censor.  What  rule  or  principle  could  have  guided  the 
Censor  to  refuse  the  licence  to  the  other  plays  ?  If  there 
were  any  rule  at  all,  it  could  have  been  no  other  than 
this — "  It  is  deeply  conceived — it  must  be  immoral." 
I  will  leave  Bernard  Shaw  to  the  tender  mercies  o 
posterity,  and  Granville  Barker  will  doubtless  rest 
secure  on  the  pedestal  where  Mr.  William  Archer  has 
placed  him.  Brieux  has  a  great  reputation,  and  is  an 
avowed  moralist — indeed  his  fault  is  that  he  allows  the 
moralist  to  run  away  with  the  dramatist.  Maeterlinck's 
"  Monna  Vanna"  has,  we  learn  from  himself,  been  played 
3000  times  on  the  Continent.  I  saw  it  in  New  York, 
where  it  ran  for  some  months,  and  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion without  raising  any  offence.  What  happened  in 
England  ?  The  Stage  Society  announced  two  perform- 
ances. Most  likely  if  the  play  had  been  licensed  those 
two  performances  would  have  seen  the  end  of  it  in  the 
theatre,  for  its  morality  was  not  the  wax-doll  morality 
which  delights  English  playgoers — in  the  theatre. 

But  the  Censor  vetoed  it.  A  Maeterlinck  Society 
was  formed,  and  it  was  played  six  or  eight  times,  that 
is,  it  was  probably  seen  by  four  times  the  number  of 
people  who  would  have  seen  it  if  the  Censor  had 
licensed  it.  Therefore,  moral  or  immoral,  the  net  result 
of  the  Censor's  action  was  that  a  scandal  was  caused, 
the  Censor  was  defeated,  and  the  play  was  performed  to 
increased  audiences.  Much  the  same  thing  happened 
with  "Ghosts,"  "Waste,"  "Blanco  Posnet,"  and 
"  Press  Notices."  Again  a  scandal  was  raised,  again 
the  Censor  was  defeated,  again  the  plays  were  per- 
formed in  spite  of  him. 

"  Ghosts  "  has  been  performed  all  over  Europe,  and 

U 


290    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

surely  this  tremendous  and  moving  play  can  only  have 
had  a  powerful  and  searching  moral  effect.  The  "  (Edipus 
Tyrannus  "  is  part  of  the  education  of  our  public  school- 
boys. If  I  wish  to  see  it  on  the  stage  the  Censor  forbids 
me.     "  It  is  deeply  conceived — it  must  be  immoral ! " 

Now  of  course,  if  any  considerable  body  of  English- 
men are  arranging  to    marry  their    mothers,  whether 
by  design  or  accident,  the  thing  must  be  stopped   at 
once.      But    it    is    not   a   frequent    occurrence   in   any 
class  of  English  society.      Throughout   the   course   of 
my  life  I  have  not  met  with  more  than  six  men  who 
were  anxious  to  do  it.     Still,  it  is  undoubtedly  a  highly 
dangerous,  immoral,  and  I  should  imagine  an  uninter- 
esting proceeding;  and  any  man,  whether  Censor  or  no, 
who  checks  it,  deserves  our  gratitude  as  a  zealous  and 
comprehensive   moral   sanitarian.      Though,  indeed,  it 
may  be  asked  whether  a  public  representation  of  the 
troubles  that  befell  (Edipus  might  not  prove  a  whole- 
some deterrent  to  anyone  who  is  contemplating  the  step. 
But,  at  any  rate,  we  may  render  a  welcome  tribute  to 
the  presumable  motives  of  the  Censor.      And  we  will 
cordially  pay  him  the  same  sort  of  respect  that  we  paid 
to  the  other  zealous  sanitarian  who  recently  proposed 
to  burn  down  the  Mansion  House  because  there  was 
a  persistent  flea   in   one  of  the   bedrooms.     Fleas  are 
noxious   wildfowl,  and   must   be   circumvented   and,  if 
possible,  destroyed.     But  whether   burning  down  the 
Mansion  House  is  the  best  way  of  rendering  this  service 
to  the  occupants  of  the  building  is  a  moot  point;   and 
it  seems  to  have  escaped  the  notice  of  both  our  zealous 
sanitarians   that   fleas   are   very   agile.      However,   the 
motive   that   dictates   their   destruction  is  a  good  one. 
But  unless  the  Censor  has  got  wind  that  some  appreci- 
able  number  of  Englishmen   are   organizing  a  plot  to 
upset  our  domestic    arrangements    and    traditions   by 
accidentally  marrying  their  mothers,  why  does  he  veto 
"  (Edipus  "  ?     What  other  reason  can  he  possibly  have  ? 
Let  us  ask  him  for  his  guiding  principle. 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    291 

Of  all  the  plays  vetoed  by  the  Censor,  incomparably 
the  greatest  and  loftiest  two,  from  the  standpoint  of 
literature,  are  "CEdipus"  and  "The  Cenci."  It  will 
be  noticed  that  both  these  acknowledged  masterpieces 
deal  with  incest,  not  because  the  dramatists  are  actuated 
by  dirty  motives  ;  but  because  terror  is  one  of  the  two 
necessary  ingredients  of  tragedy.  It  is  because  Ibsen 
unflinchingly  strikes  terror,  imaginative  terror,  that  he 
is  stepping  up  to  join  the  great  tragic  writers.  Will 
they  not  look  a  little  askance  at  him  ?  Will  they  not 
say,  "  Yes,  here  is  your  terror,  rightly  enough,  but 
where  is  your  pity?  Did  you  leave  it  on  earth  where 
they  need  it  so  much?"  "I  never  had  much  pity," 
Ibsen  will  be  obliged  to  own.  Then  they  will  ask  him, 
"  Why  do  you  come  in  this  grubby  tattered  homespun  ? 
where  are  your  gorgeous  robes  and  sceptred  pall  ? " 
and  they  will  point  out  to  him  that  tragedy  should 
always  come  sweeping  by  in  gorgeous  robes  and 
sceptred  pall.  But  I  think  they'll  let  him  in,  for  he 
has  great  qualities ;  flamebright  imagination,  blistering 
irony,  massive  fortitude,  matchless  sincerity. 

"CEdipus"  and  "The  Cenci"  strike  terror  because 
they  deal  with  incest.  The  Censor  shivers,  but  not 
in  legitimate  response  to  a  great  tragedy;  he  shivers 
vicariously  for  all  the  good  folk  in  Brixton.  "If  this 
sort  of  thing  is  to  go  on,  if  people  begin  by  marrying 
their  mothers,  where  will  they  end?"  Let  the  Censor 
take  cheer  and  carefully  read  Westermarck's  "  History 
of  Human  Marriage."  There  he  will  find  that  the 
author,  after  enormous,  indeed  incredible,  research 
and  thought,  has  wrung  from  a  wilderness  of  facts 
and  customs  the  law  which  prompts  the  sexual  feel- 
ings and  relationships  of  those  who  live  together  under 
the  same  roof  It  seems  to  be  a  universal  law ;  and  it 
may  reassure  the  Censor  to  know  that  under  its  con- 
stant operation  there  is  not  the  least  fear  that  his  good 
sheep  of  Brixton  will  ever,  even  in  hole-and-corner 
groups   of  twos   and  threes,   plot  together  to  destroy 


292    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

English  society  by  marrying  their  mothers.  If,  how- 
ever, on  further  examination  than  it  has  already  received 
from  the  wisest  and  greatest  minds  during  two  thousand 
five  hundred  years,  "  (Edipus  Tyrannus "  is  found  to 
be  an  immoral  play,  let  it  and  Aristotle's  Poetics  be 
immediately  withdrawn  from  the  places  where  they 
must  be  most  actively  exercising  their  poisonous  influ- 
ence— the  shelves  and  forms  of  our  public  schools. 

Meanwhile  it  has  scarcely  been  noted  that  all  play- 
goers have  a  sure  and  instant  remedy  to  hand  against 
the  evils  that  may  attend  the  public  representation  of 
these  plays.  A  lady  came  to  Doctor  Abernethy  afflicted 
with  a  strange  disease. 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Abernethy,  whenever  I  hold  my  left  arm 
straight  above  my  head,  I  do  feel  such  a  pain  ! " 

"  Don't  hold  your  left  arm  straight  above  your  head, 
ma'am." 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Censor,  whenever  I  go  to  see  a  play  by 
Sophocles,  I  do  feel  such  a  pain  ! " 

"  Don't  go  to  see  a  play  by  Sophocles,  ma'am,"  the 
Censor  ought  to  reply,  "  but  I  am  going  to  license  it." 

Generally  English  playgoers  are  sensible  enough  to 
apply  the  unfailing  remedy  I  have  pointed  out  to  them, 
and  thus  relieve  their  moral  pain  or  biliousness.  The 
worst  of  the  Censor  is  that  he  will  insist  on  dosing  and 
massaging  us  healthy  people  who  don't  feel  the  pain. 
Suppose  "  CEdipus  Tyrannus"  had  been  licensed  at 
His  Majesty's.  A  few  odd  playgoers  might  have  been 
offended,  as  a  few  odd  playgoers  are  at  every  play. 
But  English  playgoers  generally  would  have  been  given 
the  chance  of  seeing  a  beautiful  and  tasteful  production 
of  one  of  the  greatest  tragedies.  And  it  is  to  be  feared 
Sir  Herbert  Tree  would  have  lost  money,  as  he  has 
done  over  some  of  his  most  honourable  productions, 
and  as  he  is  always  prepared  to  do  when  he  thinks  he 
sees  the  chance  of  mounting  a  great  play. 

Sir  Herbert  Tree  gave  his  evidence  in  a  very  broad- 
minded]  spirit,  and  while  remaining  quite  loyal  to  his 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    293 

brother  managers,  showed  his  evident  personal  sym- 
pathy with,  and  a  desire  to  help  those  music-hall 
managers  who  wish  lawfully  to  give  a  somewhat  better 
class  of  entertainment  than  the  law  now  allows  them. 
Whatever  reluctance  he  showed  to  declare  himself  in 
favour  of  this  policy  may,  I  think,  be  ascribed  not  to  the 
artist  or  to  the  man,  but  to  the  exigencies  of  the  present- 
day  manager. 

Let  us  pass  on  to  the  Censorship  of  "The  Cenci." 
It  will  serve  the  better  to  bring  the  general  situation 
before  us,  for  it  was  vetoed  by  the  late  Censor,  Mr. 
Pigott.  It  has  been  suggested  that  the  present  Censor, 
Mr.  Redford,  is  unfitted  for  the  office.  He  is  allowed 
on  all  sides  to  be  amiable,  obliging,  and  accessible. 
He  has  probably  filled  the  most  thankless,  most  diffi- 
cult, nay,  most  impossible  post  in  the  kingdom  in  as 
capable  and  efficient  a  manner  and,  on  the  whole,  with 
as  good  a  grace  and  with  as  little  friction  as  any  future 
Censor  we  are  likely  to  get. 

May  I  here  point  out  to  you,  sir,  that  the  good  old 
ante-friction  days,  when  wax-doll  morality^  seemed  to 
be  firmly  established  on  the  serious  English  stage,  are 
gone  for  ever,  and  that  whatever  difficulties  the  present 
Censor  has  had  to  contend  with,  are  small  compared 
with  those  which  any  future  occupant  of  the  post  is 
likely  to  be  called  upon  to  face.  And  may  I  beneficently 
strike  wholesome  terror  into  the  heart  of  any  intending 

^  The  pleasing  system  of  morality  practised  amongst  wax  dolls.  It  is 
every  way  superior  to  the  morality  which  prevails  in  the  actual  world. 
It  may  be  seen  in  full  operation  by  gazing  into  any  toy-shop  window 
where  dolls  are  exhibited,  or  by  attending  the  performances  at  some 
of  our  theatres.  But  as  a  visit  to  the  theatre  costs  time  and  money,  a 
visit  to  the  toy-shop  window  seems  to  be  the  more  profitable  pursuit.  It 
has  been  credibly  asserted  that  both  classes  of  exhibition  have  been 
organized  with  the  object,  not  of  amusing  children  as  might  be  supposed, 
but  with  the  profoundly  ironic  intention  of  pointing  out  a  perfect  system 
of  morality  to  Providence,  who  must  be  held  wholly  responsible  for  the 
deplorable  fact  that  men  and  women  are  not  wax  dolls,  and  for  all  the 
embarrassing  and  distressing  consequences  both  in  our  theatres  and  in 
real  life. 


294    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

candidate  for  the  post  by  assuring  him  beforehand  that 
he  will  find  the  situation  a  bed  of  thorns,^well-nigh 
intolerable  and  untenable?  And  this,  not  from  any 
wicked  designs  and  devices  of  English  dramatists,  but 
from  the  mere  situation  itself,  and  from  the  march  oi 
circumstances  which  must  get  beyond  his  control,  so 
far  as  we  have  a  living  English  drama  at  all.  Mr. 
Redford  is  probably  an  average  occupant  of  the  post, 
and  probably  represents  fairly  enough  the  average 
man's  views  in  the  theatre,  and  of  the  theatre. 
Because,  curiously  enough,  men  and  women  who  have 
a  wide  cultured  intelligence  in  dealing  with  the  other 
arts,  sink  to  the  intellectual  and  moral  level  of  children 
when  they  judge  the  theatre.  And  it  is  only  of  late 
years  that  other  standards  of  judgment  have  begun 
to  show  themselves ;  and  doubtless  it  will  take  many 
years  for  these  wider  views  and  judgments  to  prevail, 
and  to  become  the  views  and  judgments  of  the  average 
man.  Meantime  I  do  not  think  Mr.  Redford  is  con- 
spicuously to  blame  for  the  present  crisis.  He  is  a 
fairly  average  Censor,  and  any  one  placed  in  his  position 
will  meet  with  greater  difficulties;  because  he  will  meet 
with  more  conflicting  views  and  aims  and  opinions, 
more  tenaciously  held,  and  more  vigorously  backed  and 
enforced  by  the  tendencies  of  the  time. 

Mr.  Redford  is  then  an  average  Censor.  Mr.  Pigott 
was  more  than  this.  He  was  an  ideal  man  for  Censor. 
A  constant  theatre-goer;  a  man  of  the  world;  a  man 
of  charming  social  manners;  a  welcome  diner-out;  a 
delightful,  companionable  man,  as  all  of  us  who  had  the 
pleasure  of  his  friendship  can  remember;  a  man  of  fine 
literary  gifts  and  tastes ;  more  than  this,  a  very  liberal- 
minded,  advanced  man,  a  friend  of  George  Eliot  and 
Herbert  Spencer — such  was  the  late  Mr.  Pigott.  Surely 
here  is  the  stamp  of  man  for  a  Censor,  if  a  Censor  we 
are  to  have.  Strangely  enough,  or  not  strangely  at  all, 
Mr.  Pigott,  who  in  private  life  was  so  broad  and  liberal 
and  easy-going,  became  a  different  creature  in  his  official 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    295 

garb.  He  once  told  me  that  managers  were  mainly  licen- 
tious in  their  tastes  and  aims ;  that  actors  were  mainly 
licentious  in  their  tastes  and  aims  ;  that  dramatic  authors 
were  mainly  licentious  in  their  tastes  and  aims  ;  and  that 
they  were  naturally  so  because  licentiousness  paid  in 
the  theatre.  He  did  not  discriminate  between  different 
kinds  of  managers,  actors,  and  authors ;  or  between  the 
widely  different  kinds  of  what  he  called  licentiousness ; 
or  again  between  the  author  and  the  man — he  merely 
shepherded  us  all  together  as  a  licentious  troop  who 
had  to  be  kept  in  order  by  his  nod  or  whip.  He  did 
not  recognize  what  is  a  most  important  thing  for  the 
holder  of  his  office  to  note,  that  the  same  professional 
pride  and  honesty  and  ambition  which  often  keep  a 
clergyman  upright,  which  often  turn  a  naturally  timid 
man  into  a  brave  soldier,  are  frequently  also  the  main- 
spring of  a  dramatist's  conduct  and  motives,  and  tend 
to  become  instinctive  and  habitual  with  him.  How 
then  did  the  easy,  genial,  broad,  amiable,  cultured  Mr. 
Pigott  of  private  life  become  the  narrow,  suspicious, 
illiberal  Mr.  Pigott  the  Censor?  Why,  for  the  reason 
that  I  have  just  given — his  office  did  it !  He  had  to 
censor  somebody,  or  clearly  his  office  was  useless.  He 
lived  in  the  good  old  ante-friction  days  before  these 
troubles  began.  But  it  is  very  questionable  whether 
he  would  have  been  able  to  control  them  very  much, 
if  at  all,  better  than  Mr.  Redford  has  done.  He  would 
have  remained  the  creature  of  his  office. 

Let  us  carefully  look  into  Mr.  Pigott's  veto  upon 
"  The  Cenci "  with  its  attendant  circumstances,  because 
it  forms  a  perfect  and  typical  example  of  the  working 
of  the  Censorship.  Here  was  a  proposed  performance 
of  what,  in  respect  of  poetry,  is  perhaps  the  greatest 
English  tragedy  of  the  nineteenth  century,  by  one  of 
our  greatest  English  poets.  Here  was  its  promoter 
and  organizer,  one  of  our  finest  and  most  thorough 
English  scholars  and  Shakespearean  students,  our 
ever-green  Doctor  Furnivall.     Here  was  an  expectant 


296    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

audience  of  highly  cultured  and  intellectual  English 
men  and  women,  amongst  them  Robert  Browning. 
Here  was  an  accomplished  scholar  and  actor,  Mr. 
Herman  Vezin,  and  other  ambitious  actors  ready  to 
give  their  free  services.  Here  was  Mr.  Pigott,  a  lover 
of  literature,  with  catholic  literary  tastes  in  private,  and 
doubtless  a  warm  admirer  of  Shelley.  And  here  also 
was  Mr.  Pigott  the  Censor,  obliged  from  the  necessities 
of  his  office  to  ban  and  quash  the  proposed  performance, 
which  he  must  have  known  would  be  an  honour  to  the 
English  stage  and  to  everybody  concerned. 

What  happened  ?  A  scandal  was  caused,  a  society 
determined  to  do  the  play,  the  Censor  was  defeated, 
the  performance  took  place,  and  zvns  an  honour  to  the 
English  stage.  When  the  curtain  had  fallen  on  The 
Cenci  I  had  a  short  talk  with  Robert  Browning.  He 
was  greatly  delighted  with  the  performance,  and  of 
course  was  wholly  in  sympathy  with  it,  and  with  the 
play.  And  that  is  a  typical  example  of  how  the  English 
Censorship  works,  even  under  an  ideal  man  for  the 
post,  like  the  late  Mr.  Pigott.  That  is  what  did  happen 
twenty  years  ago,  what  happens  more  frequently  to-day, 
and  what  will  happen  still  more  frequently  in  the  future, 
whoever  may  be  appointed  as  Censor.  The  very  palp- 
able fact  is  that  the  Censorship  worked  mischievously 
and  was  ridiculous  when  we  had  no  English  modern 
drama  to  speak  of;  it  works  more  mischievously  and  is 
more  ridiculous  to-day  as  the  English  drama  grows;  it 
will  work  yet  more  mischievously,  and  grow  more  and 
more  ridiculous  and  impossible  in  the  future,  if  its 
continuance  be  attempted. 

How  many  more  examples  do  we  need?  Who  after 
this  will  advocate  the  renewal  of  an  office  that  has  so 
constantly  proved  itself  equally  disastrous  and  absurdj? 
If  the  Censorship  were  once  dropped,  who  would  start 
an  agitation  for  its  renewal  ? 

Let  us  leave  the  plays  and  the  authors  that  the 
Censorship  has  vetoed,  and  turn  to  those  it  has  licensed. 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    297 

We  may  not  see  Sophocles,  and  Shelley,  and  Ibsen  on 
the  English  stage,  but  any  cockney  shopboy  and  any 
man  about  town,  may  go  to  a  fashionable  West  End 
theatre  and  have  their  identical  tastes  gratified  by 
hearing  cheap  doggrel  about  ladies'  "  nighties." 

Let  us  search  for  the  rule  or  principle  that  has 
guided  the  Censor  in  his  acceptance  of  certain  plays  or 
rather  entertainments.  If  he  has  any  rule  at  all,  does  it 
not  seem  to  run  something  like  this  :  "  It  is  basely  con- 
ceived, it  is  cheaply  conceived,  it  is  ignobly  conceived, 
it  is  begotten  in  the  mood  of  a  Bank  Holiday  roysterer — 
therefore  it  must  be  moral."  I  will  not  wrong  the  Censor 
by  thinking  him  capable  of  formulating  or  applying  such 
a  rule.  He  has  no  rule.  He  cannot  have  any  rule  except 
the  very  simple,  and  in  the  long  run  the  inevitable,  rule 
of  licensing  whatever  is  likely  to  please  any  considerable 
body  of  playgoers.  His  best  judgment,  his  best  tastes, 
his  best  standards,  as  I  have  shown  in  the  case  of  Mr. 
Pigott  and  Shelley,  count  for  nothing.  The  Censor  is 
there  merely  to  license  anything  that  any  fairly  large 
body  of  playgoers  would  choose  for  themselves  without 
his  interference. 

Mr.  Zangwill  has  made  an  admirable  division  of 
dramatists  into  three  classes,  whom  he  labels  as 
"  pioneers,"  "  plain  men,"  and  "  pornographers."  Ot 
course  all  the  three  classes  more  or  less  blend  and 
shade  into  each  other,  but  it  is  a  good  working  division 
for  our  present  purpose. 

Now  the  very  great  majority  of  English  dramatists 
are  "  plain  men,"  who  in  their  best  moral  moods  cheer- 
fully peck  at  drawing-room  foibles  and  follies  ;  and  who 
in  their  worst  lapses  go  no  further  than  what  we  are 
bound  in  charity  to  interpret  as  a  more  or  less  innocent 
flirtation,  stopping  dead  at  anything  that  may  be  un- 
cloaked and  rebuked  as  actual  guilt.  Even  Bernard 
Shaw's  characters,  daring  rascal  of  a  "pioneer"  as  he 
is,  are  apparently  engaged  chiefly  in  brave  and  witty 
and  lawless  talking.     They  don't  seem  to  be  very  busy 


298    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

in  active  wrongdoing.  The  "  plain  men "  give  their 
personages  far  greater  opportunities  for  intrigue,  which 
neither  the  Censor  nor  the  audience  is  called  upon  to 
look  into,  and  thereby  and  therefore  to  attach  a  definite 
meaning.  But  the  "plain  men"  rarely  commit  an  open 
offence  against  propriety  either  in  plain  word  or  deed. 
So  much  honour  they  may  claim.  And  the  "plain 
men,"  forming  as  they  do  by  far  the  largest,  most 
successful,  and  most  prosperous  group  of  our  play- 
wrights, are  naturally  followed  by  a  body  of  correspond- 
ing "plain,"  simple  playgoers,  who  form  the  vast 
majority  of  those  who  support  the  theatres  where 
drama  and  comedy  are  played.  We  may  congratulate 
ourselves  upon  possessing  this  group  of  "plain"  play- 
wrights, and  this  enormous  majority  of  "  plain,"  simple 
playgoers.  What  follows  ?  Obviously  the  "  plain  men  " 
can  go  their  way  in  calm  indifference  whether  there  is  a 
Censor  or  not.  His  existence  gives  them  no  uneasiness 
and  no  inconvenience ;  neither  his  retention  nor  his 
removal  need  cause  them  a  moment's  concern. 

About  the  great  bulk  of  English  plays  no  question 
arises,  or  can  arise,  as  to  their  fitness  to  be  licensed. 
And  having  regard  only  to  this  pleasing  and  very 
important  fact,  Mr.  Walkley  was  perhaps  justified  in 
saying  that  too  much  fuss  is  being  made  over  this 
business.  And  so  there  is,  except  for  its  very  numerous 
and  weighty  implications  and  complications. 

It  is  the  "  pioneers  "  and  the  "  pornographers  "  that 
are  causing  all  this  bother.  We  have  seen  how  the 
Censorship  deals  with  the  "pioneers;"  not  from  follow- 
ing his  own  judgment,  taste,  or  conviction,  but  from  the 
necessities  of  his  office.  We  may  count  Sophocles 
amongst  the  "  pioneers,"  as  he  may  well  be  reckoned  in 
respect  of  the  present  condition  of  things.  We  have 
also  examined  the  relation  of  the  Censorship  to  the 
"plain  men."  And  we  have  found  that  for  this  most 
popular  group  of  dramatists,  it  is  quite  unnecessary,  and 
has  no  appreciable  influence  or  bearing  upon  their  plays. 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    299 

Now   let    us   see    how   the   Censorship    affects   the 
"  pornographers,"  and  how  it  deals  with  them.     There 
are  very  few  "  pornographers  "  writing  for  the  London 
stage ;  indeed  I  do  not  know  of  a  single  man  who  can 
be  pointed   out  as  a   professional   pornographer.     But 
though  they  are  very  few  or  none  at  all,  yet  they  are 
very  numerous  and  very  active,  and  are  great  favourites 
with   certain   sections   of    playgoers.     That   is   to   say, 
many  blatant,  coarse,  objectionable,  and  ribald    "snip- 
pets "  (shall  we  call  them  ?)  are  constantly  to  be  found 
popping  up  and  running  in  and  out  of  plays  of  a  certain 
class.     In   many  cases  they  are  doubtless  gags  of  the 
actors,  and  they  often  have  to  be  excised  or  toned  down 
by  the  manager.    In  this  sense  there  are  many  hundreds 
of   "  pornographers "   on   the    English   stage.     "  Porno- 
graphers "  is  perhaps  too  harsh  a  term  to  apply  to  them. 
As  I  have  already  pointed  out,  not  a  single  prosecution 
has  been  instituted  in  all  these  years,  so  far  as  I  can 
recall  for  the  moment.     The  actual  pornography  on  the 
English  stage  is  more  or  less  veiled,  and  is  not  often 
of   a  markedly    virulent    type.     Glaring    immodesties, 
indelicacies   and    imbecilities,    horrible   detestable   vul- 
garities  are   there,    but   not    many   examples   of   true, 
impure  pornography.    And  these  indelicacies  and  im- 
modesties  are   sometimes   found    in   an   entertainment 
containing  much  that  is  graceful,  charming,  and  delight- 
ful to   the  senses.     Still   there  are  these   hundreds   of 
more  or  less  practised  "  pornographers  "  writing  for,  or 
rather  speaking  on,  the  English  stage  to-day.     Not  to 
be   personal,  let   us  call  them   tendencies   rather  than 
authors;  and  let  us  dub  these  tendencies  "Mr.  Slang- 
wheezy,"  "  Mr.  Bawlrot,"  "  Mr.  Harry  Chortler,"  "  Mr. 
Chummy,"  "  Mr.  Smallfilth,"  "  Mr.  Charley  Wrapitup," 
"  Mr.  Bandysmut,"  "  Mr.  Foule  Pinchbeck,"  "  Mr.  Froth- 
spew,"  "Mr.  Ganderpest,"  "Mr.  Cadjoy,"  "Mr.  Whatho 
Rorty,"  "Mr.  DroUfuddle" — I  fear,  sir,  I  am  becoming 
too  reminiscent  of  Homer,  so  I  will   merely  add  the 
names  of  three  especial  darlings  of  the  English  public. 


300    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

"  Mr.  Cacklefun,"  "  Mr.  Spinethriller,"  and  "  Mr.  Godly- 
Slime." 

How  does  the  Censorship  deal  with  the  large  group 
of  dramatists  I  have  just  named  ?  For  the  most  part  he 
does  not  deal  with  them  at  all,  because  many  of  them 
do  not  even  pay  him  the  compliment  of  showing  him 
their  text.  While  Sophocles  and  Shelley  and  Tolstoi 
and  Ibsen  and  Maeterlinck  and  Shaw  and  Brieux  are 
cuffed  and  gagged,  and  then  fiercely  scanned  in  every 
line  and  word  before  being  either  emasculated  or 
banished,  the  authors  I  have  named  and  their  hundreds 
of  confreres  are  in  the  greater  number  of  instances  not 
called  upon  even  to  offer  their  works  to  the  Censor. 
And  if  they  were,  they  could  easily  dodge  away  from 
him  the  next  night. 

Still  the  Censor  does,  of  course,  look  through  what- 
ever skeleton  framework  serves  for  the  main  authors  of 
the  piece  to  embroider  their  purple  patches  upon.  And 
of  course  he  can  at  any  moment  place  an  absolute  veto 
upon  even  the  least  immodesty,  or  vulgarity,  or  in- 
delicacy. He  could  even  use  a  continual  spray  of 
influence  and  admonition  to  check  their  most  glaring 
faults  and  indiscretions.  If  we  must  have  a  Censor, 
surely  here,  at  any  rate,  he  could  have  found  a  wide  and 
useful  field  for  his  talents— here  he  could  have  done 
good  service  all  round — "  instead  of  which  "  he  must 
needs  gag  Sophocles  !  I  do  not,  of  course,  know  how 
far  the  Censor  has  been  active  behind  the  scenes  in 
curtailing  and  restraining  the  veiled  indecencies  and 
indelicacies  of  the  authors  I  have  just  named.  Let  us 
very  plainly  ask  him  to  give  us  a  list  of  his  efforts  in 
dealing  with  this  all-important  class.  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  he  has  done  next  to  nothing  at  all,  and  that 
we  have  their  pure,  uncorrupted,  unadulterated  text 
before  us.  But  surely,  sir,  if  we  have  a  Censor  at  all, 
here  is  where  he  ought  to  be  most  active  and  vigilant; 
here  is  the  task  to  which  his  energies  should  mainly  be 
bent.     Why  has  he  done  comparatively  nothing? 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    301 

Sir,  he  dare  not ! 

The  authors  I  have  named  are  too  dearly  enshrined 
in  the  hearts  of  too  large  a  body  of  playgoers  to  be 
interfered  with.  So  they  have  to  be  left  pretty  much  to 
have  their  own  way. 

Further,  suppose  the  Censor  had  censored  this 
group ;  suppose  he  had,  so  far  as  was  in  his  power,  been 
helpful  to  them  in  chastening  and  improving  their  text, 
there  remains  quite  as  large  and  operative  a  group  of 
authors  who  are,  and  for  ever  will  be,  outside  his  con- 
trol. Yet  so  far  as  morals  are  concerned  this  group 
exercises  an  enormous  but  quite  intangible  and  elusive 
power  and  influence.  Again  I  will  not  be  personal,  for 
that  would  merely  bring  rancour  and  ill-feeling  into  the 
discussion.  And  this  I  am  most  anxious  to  avoid.  I 
heartily  disclaim  the  faintest  wish,  unnecessarily  to 
injure  or  disturb  the  reputation,  the  position,  or  the 
amour  propre  of  any,  even  the  smallest  of  my  comrade 
authors,  of  the  least  considered  of  my  comrade  actors, 
of  the  meanest  person  who  has  his  standing  in  the 
theatre  and  his  living  to  get  there. 

But  if  this  business  is  to  be  set  straight,  plain  and 
piercing  words  must  be  used.  Again,  then,  that  nobody 
may  be  personally  offended,  we  will  look  upon  this  second 
group  of  authors  not  as  men  to  be  identified,  but  as  actions 
and  tendencies  to  be  reproved.  And  that  there  may  be 
no  possible  mistaking  what  these  tendencies  are,  and 
no  doubt  about  their  meaning  and  direction  we  will  dub 
them,  "Mr.  Slysmirk,"  "Mr.  Bluewink,"  "Mr.  Leerit," 
"  Miss  Tottie  Kickit,"  "  Mr.  Wriggleit,"  "  Mr.  Coughit," 
"Miss  Trixie  Nudgit,"  "Mr.  Apegrin,"  "Mr.  Snigger," 
"Mr.  Lewdtrick,"  "Mr.  Broadspank,"  "Mr.  Dirty- 
chuckle,"  "  Mr.  Poserump,"  and  so  on.  All  the  members 
of  both  groups  will  be  found  active  here  and  there  at  all 
times  of  the  year,  but  they  are  in  full  employment  in 
the  lower-class  pantomimes.  Well,  they  are  our 
brothers ;  for  there  remains  in  all  of  us  some  strain  of 
their  blood.     Only  by  the  grace  of  God  some  of  us  are 


302    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

not  obliged  to  get  our  living  by  their  means.  But  for 
the  grace  of  God  we  might  be  in  their  place.  So  we 
must  not  be  too  hard  on  them.  Let  us  bring  so  pure 
and  refined  a  writer  as  Ruskin  to  say  a  good  word  for 
them.  In  a  characteristic  passage  which  I  cannot  for 
the  moment  lay  my  hands  on,  but  which  is  to  be  found 
in  "Lectures  on  Art,"  Ruskin  notices  this  obscene 
tendency  in  some  English  writers.  He  compares  Dante 
with  Shakespeare  in  this  respect,  and  asks  us  to  observe 
how,  while  Dante's  high  bearing  frowns  at  the  foul  jests 
and  talk  of  coarse  people,  Shakespeare  seems  to  take 
a  delight  in  listening  to  them  and  copying  them ;  and 
he  notes  how  Chaucer  also  in  an  atmosphere  as  wild 
and  sweet  as  an  April  morning,  does  yet  often  stoop 
and  sniff  at  these  unpleasant  odours  and  ordures  with 
delight.  That  is  to  be  regretted.  But  Ruskin  says 
very  pointedly,  "You  will  find  a  strain  of  this  coarse- 
ness in  all  the  greatest  English  writers  ;  it  is  one  of  the 
marks  of  the  true  English  spirit;  you  never  get  the 
richest  fruits  of  English  literature  without  these  weeds. 
They  grow  in  the  same  soil."  So  our  Mr.  Smallfilth 
and  Mr.  Leerit  and  the  rest  of  them  may  claim  that, 
according  to  Ruskin,  they  are  merely  a  rank  outburst  of 
the  true  English  spirit. 

What  is  of  great  importance  to  note  is  the  fact  that 
they  are  growing  less  active  and  less  popular  in  most 
places,  and  that  they  are  being  gradually  driven  to 
the  smaller  and  less  reputable  theatres  and  music  halls. 
And  this  improvement  has  been  coincident  with  the 
gradual  diminution  of  drinking  habits,  and  more  notably 
with  the  gradual  appearance  on  the  music-hall  stage  of 
a  better  entertainment  in  the  form  of  regular  sketches 
and  plays. 

Moreover,  most  of  the  gentlemen  I  have  named  in 
both  groups  often  flash  out  pieces  of  genuine  rough 
satire  and  wit,  with  appropriate  gestures  and  expres- 
sions. They  are  generally  adepts  in  the  art  of  keeping 
the   stage   alive   at  every   moment,   and   of  constantly 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    -,o 


o^j 


amusing  their  audiences ;  and  here  they  have  the  advan- 
tage of  many  actors  on  our  regular  stage.  But  their 
works  contain  many  coarse,  veiled  indecencies.  The 
second  group  of  authors  I  have  named  undoubtedly 
stand  in  need  of  some  sort  of  a  Censor,  and  their 
existence  might  justify  an  argument  for  his  retention — 
if  only  he  could  be  present  in  every  theatre  and  music- 
hall  of  the  kingdom  at  every  performance.  And  even 
then  he  would  find  many  of  the  objectionable  things  too 
impalpable  and  too  intangible  to  be  proceeded  against. 

Taking  both  these  groups  of  authors  together,  it  is 
pretty  plain  that  so  long  as  they  keep  just  outside  the 
boundaries  of  open  indecency,  the  Censor  cannot  touch 
them.  We  are  all  agreed  that  they  are  to  be  tolerated 
or  welcomed  according  to  our  tastes  and  moods.  A 
large  section  of  playgoers  still  idolizes  them,  and  there- 
fore they  must  be  allowed  free  riot  so  long  as  they  do 
not  much  overstep  the  mark.  When  they  do,  they  will 
be  corrected  by  whatever  good  or  moral  sense  is  active 
in  the  audience.  And  this  sense  in  the  audience  of  what 
is  allowable  will  still  remain  the  final  and  habitual 
gauge  of  their  proceedings,  whether  we  have  a  Censor 
or  not. 

But  it  may  be  urged  that  the  gentlemen  I  have 
named  are  not  authors  at  all.  For  the  purposes  of  the 
Censor  they  are  authors — that  is,  they  contribute  a 
very  large  and  vital  part  of  the  total  entertainment, 
the  moral  effect  of  which  upon  the  audience  it  is 
supposed  to  be  the  Censor's  business  to  control.  But 
the  irony  of  it  is,  that  while  Sophocles  and  Shelley 
are  easily  accessible  to  the  Censor's  whip,  Mr.  Small- 
filth  and  Mr.  Slangwheezy  rarely  come  within  the  clang 
of  it ;  while  Mr.  Bluewink  and  Mr.  Leerit  stand  grinning 
at  him  with  their  thumbs  to  their  noses  from  a  hundred 
stages  every  night.  And  meantime,  those  intellectual 
playgoers  who  wish  to  see  one  performance  of  Shelley 
or  Sophocles  are  stamped  by  the  Censor  as  immoral 
persons. 


304    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

Thus  the  rule  of  the  Censorship  is  proved  to  be 
"Gag  Shelley!  Gag  Sophocles!  License  Mr.  Small- 
filth  !  License  Mr.  Slangwheezy !  Take  no  notice  of 
Mr.  Bluewink  and  Mr.  Leerit !  " 

To  sum  up,  sir,  the  total  effect  of  the  Censorship  on 
Mr.  Zangwill's  three  all-inclusive  classes  of  dramatists  is 
as  follows  : 

As  regards  the  "pioneers"  and  poets  the  Censor  is 
mischievous. 

As  regards  the  "  plain  men  "  the  Censor  is  super- 
fluous. 

As  regards  the  "  pornographers "  the  Censor  is 
impotent. 

That  is  how  the  system  has  worked  in  the  past,  even 
under  such  an  ideal  Censor  as  Mr.  Pigott.  That  is  the 
system,  sir,  which  you  and  your  Committee  are  now 
deliberating  whether  you  shall  renew  under  some  form 
or  another. 

How  will  it  work  in  the  future  ?  Certainly  no  better, 
probably  very  much  worse,  because  of  the  new  forces 
that  have  been  recently  awakened.  What  will  happen 
when  the  next  play  is  vetoed  ?  Again  there  will  be  a 
scandal,  again  a  society  will  be  formed  to  produce  the 
play,  again  the  Censor  will  be  defeated,  and,  the  play 
being  splendidly  advertised  by  his  action,  again  six  or 
eight  times  as  many  playgoers  will  be  brought  under  its 
immoral  influence  (if  it  is  immoral)  as  would  have  been 
brought  under  it  if  there  had  been  no  Censor  at  all. 

Is  it  proposed  to  continue  the  single  Censor?  The 
case  of  Mr.  Pigott,  an  ideal  man  for  the  post,  is  before 
us.  The  single  Censor,  with  his  indisputable  authority, 
has,  as  we  may  hope,  vanished  for  ever. 

Certain  variants  of  the  Censorship  have  been  pro- 
posed to  you,  but  of  course  only  in  the  event  of  the 
Government  being  fixed  in  its  determination  to  keep 
some  sort  of  Censorship  at  the  risk  of  constant  irrita- 
tion, scandal,  agitation,  and  defeat.  With  continued 
deference  to  you,  sir,  and  to  your  Committee,  may  I  be 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT     305 

permitted  to  examine  these  variant  proposals  and  to 
inquire  how  they  would  work? 

The  establishment  of  an  Optional  Censorship  has 
been  proposed  by  some  who  command  our  exceptional 
regard.  It  would  have  the  very  great  advantage  of 
leaving  uncensored  those  rising  sincere  authors  who 
do  not  wish  to  be  censored;  but  who,  in  the  opinion 
of  many  excellent,  timorous  mortals,  are  the  only 
authors  who  deserve  to  be  censored.  Again,  it  would 
have  the  further  advantage  of  allowing  those  to  be 
censored  who  are  hungering  for  it. 

To  deny  any  man  the  comfort  of  being  censored,  if 
he  craves  for  it,  would  be  against  the  broad  principle 
of  toleration  which  I  am  here  advocating.  Therefore 
let  those  who  want  to  be  censored  join  together,  form 
a  select  little  coterie,  and  appoint  their  own  Censor.  I 
have  shown  what  stamp  of  man  the  office  of  Censor 
breeds,  and  what  are  the  qualifications  for  it.  I  don't 
think  they  ought  to  pay  him  more  than  a  hundred  a 
year.  Honestly,  I  don't  think  the  business  is  worth 
more.  In  the  present  state  of  the  labour  market  a  man 
could  be  got  who  would  do  a  heap  of  censoring  for 
a  hundred  pounds.  There  are  many  well-conducted 
shopmen  and  City  clerks  out  of  a  situation  who  would 
gladly  undertake  the  post  on  these  terms ;  and  who, 
so  far  as  public  morality  is  concerned,  are  quite  as 
well  qualified  to  perform  its  duties  as  the  present  and 
late  occupants  of  the  post ;  and  quite  as  well  qualified 
to  dictate  to  Sir  Herbert  Tree  and  Mr.  George  Alexander 
what  plays  they  shall  not  produce.  Let  one  of  these 
deserving  clerks  or  shopmen,  then,  be  appointed  to  the 
post  of  Optional  Censor.  It  would  not  solve  our 
present  difficulties;  but  it  would  appease  the  craving  of 
those  who  are  crying  out  to  be  censored,  and  it  would 
do  this  at  their  own  expense,  instead  of  at  the  expense 
of  the  taxpayer.  Further,  by  aiding  an  unfortunate 
victim  of  our  present  social  arrangements,  it  would 
contribute  towards  the  solution  of  the  unemployment 

X 


3o6    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

question.  These  advantages  may  be  claimed  for  an 
Optional  Censorship  ;  if  it  is  tried  at  all,  let  it  be  tried 
on  these  grounds,  but  not  on  the  ground  that  it  will 
clear  up  our  present  muddle.  For  it  leaves  the  name 
of  Censor  to  dominate  our  drama,  if  it  can.  And  that 
name  will  so  far  dominate  our  drama,  as  to  lull  the 
public  into  the  false  and  pernicious  security  that 
somebody  has  been  appointed  to  look  after  its  morality 
in  the  theatre.  And  the  result  of  the  public  having 
this  false  security  is  that  Sophocles  and  Shelley  get 
vetoed,  and  that  Smallfilth  and  Bluewink  and  Leerit 
have  their  full  fling. 

It  has  been  urged  that  we  must  retain  the  Censor 
for  fear  that  religious  people  who  hate  the  drama  will 
begin  to  meddle  and  meddle,  and  end  by  upsetting  our 
dramatic  apple-cart  altogether.  It  is  a  base  and  cowardly 
plea.  Why  have  religious  people  hated  the  theatre,  and 
kept  apart  from  it  ?  Because  Smallfilth  and  Leerit  and 
their  crew  have  had  such  a  large  ascendency  in  it. 
Why  have  Smallfilth  and  Leerit  and  their  crew  had 
such  a  large  ascendency  in  the  theatre?  Because 
religious  people  have  hated  it  and  kept  apart  from  it. 
The  sooner  we  get  out  of  that  vicious  circle  the 
better. 

I  beg  every  minister  of  religion  in  the  kingdom  and 
all  religious  people  to  come  to  the  theatre  and  meddle 
and  meddle  with  it  until  they  have  upset  our  present 
dramatic  apple-cart.  They  will  work  a  larger  dramatic 
reform  than  was  correspondingly  wrought  a  few  years 
back  in  the  music  halls  when  some  of  the  same  best 
elements  of  our  national  life  meddled  for  a  season, 
caused  an  outcry,  and  thereby  helped  to  raise  the 
standard  of  entertainment  in  music  halls  all  over  the 
kingdom,  and  to  give  them  an  extended  and  higher 
sphere  of  influence.  Such  an  interference  would  be 
good  both  for  the  drama  and  for  religion.  Let  it  be 
started  at  once.  We  shall  doubtless  pass  through  a 
rough,  awkward,  troublesome  period.     But  pangs  and 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    307 

cries  and  distortions  are  the  signs  of  coming  life. 
After  a  time  of  wrangling  and  inconvenience  our  drama 
will  be  more  firmly  established,  on  stronger  foundations, 
and  on  a  higher  level. 

To  revert  for  a  moment  to  the  extraordinary  demand 
to  be  censored  which  has  been  put  forward  by  our 
leading  London  managers.     It  is  inexplicable. 

May  I  ask  Sir  Herbert  Tree  upon  what  he  founds 
his  unwarrantable,  nay  his  most  unjust,  suspicions  of 
the  judgment  of  the  manager  of  His  Majesty's  Theatre  ? 
Upon  what  he  founds  his  opposition  to  that  manager's 
right  to  put  before  the  public  the  plays  that  he  thinks 
fit  ?  Will  Sir  Herbert  cast  his  eyes  over  the  record  of 
His  Majesty's  Theatre,  and  tell  us  why  the  man  who  can 
show  it,  is  to  be  harried  and  thwarted  in  his  relations 
with  that  public  by  a  distracted  Court  official,  with  all 
the  misqualifications  for  his  mischievously  mismanaged 
office  that  every  Censor  must  necessarily  possess  ? 
And  does  the  public  itself  believe  that  this  same  help- 
less bewildered  official  is  a  better  taster  for  them  than 
the  manager  of  His  Majesty's,  who  has  given  them 
many  proofs  of  his  willingness  to  produce  high-class 
plays  ? 

We  have,  I  hope,  dismissed  the  Optional  Censor  as 
being  only  another  impossible  specimen  of  a  decaying 
race.  A  suggestion  has  been  made  that  you  should 
retain  the  Examiner  of  Plays,  and  take  away  his  veto. 
That  is,  you  are  to  put  the  unhappy  man  into  a  position 
where  he  has  all  his  present  difficulties,  responsibilities, 
and  liabilities  to  abuse  from  all  sides ;  you  are  to  give 
him  tremendous  authority,  and  then  tell  him  he  is  not 
to  wield  it — except  for  the  deadly  mischievous  purpose 
of  ruining  a  play's  reputation  before  it  is  produced,  and 
frightening  all  the  leading  managers  away  from  it. 
This  variant  seems  to  have  all  the  disadvantages  of  the 
present  system,  with  the  additional  one  of  making  the 
Examiner  and  his  office  even  yet  more  ridiculous  than 
they  already  are ;  while  it  still  leaves  him  considerable 


308    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

power  to  work  mischief.  It  would  assuredly  work  more 
clumsily,  more  disastrously,  and,  in  one  sense,  more 
amusingly  than  the  present  system ;  it  would  probably 
deal  out  equal  injustice  to  unknown  and  rising  authors 
with  high  and  serious  aims;  it  would  offer  a  constant 
butt  to  scoffers,  and  a  constant  handle  to  agitators. 
I  wonder  what  kind  of  man  would  undertake  the  Censor- 
ship of  Plays  on  the  condition  that  he  was  not  to  veto 
what  he  thought  to  be  harmful  and  corrupt?  What 
possible  value  or  weight  would  thoughtful  people  attach 
to  such  a  man's  mere  opinion  on  the  intrinsic  morality 
of  a  play  ? 

Another  proposal  is  that  you  should  establish  over 
us  a  board  of  arbitration,  as  if  we  were  a  band  of  miners 
fighting  for  the  very  clear  and  practical  issue  of  settling 
our  means  of  livelihood,  with  all  the  conditions  and 
factors  exactly  ascertainable  and  definable ;  or  a  com- 
pany of  railway  directors  desirous  of  buying  land  for 
our  shareholders,  again  with  all  the  attendant  circum- 
stances exactly  ascertainable  and  appraisable. 

A  board  of  arbitration  to  settle  something  so  elusive, 
so  intangible,  so  priceless  as  the  intrinsic  morality  of  a 
play  !  Surely  no  more  whimsical  idea  has  been  con- 
ceived these  two  centuries  past !  I  rub  my  eyes,  and  I 
ask  its  proposer,  as  Pliable  asked  Christian  on  a  famous 
occasion,  "Brother  Christian,  where  are  we  now?" 
We  seem  to  have  returned  to  the  days  of  the  Common- 
wealth, when  countless  experiments  of  this  kind  were 
made  only  to  prove  that  they  must  fail.  Something  of 
the  kind  we  have  been  attempting  in  our  present 
Censorship,  and  what  is  the  result?  Here  is  an  un- 
fortunate gentleman  who  has  hopelessly  and  ludicrously 
failed  in  his  impossible  task,  and  is  floundering  about  in 
a  woeful  mess.  We  have  a  plain  proof  before  our  eyes 
of  what  happens  when  we  take  away  the  Censorship  ot 
Plays  from  their  only,  and,  in  the  long  run,  their  inevit- 
able Censor,  the  public.  And  it  is  cruelly  proposed  to 
push  three  more  unfortunate  gentlemen  into  the  mess 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    309 

after  him  ;  with  the  only  possible  results  of  proving 
what  is  already  proved  up  to  the  hilt,  and  of  making 
them  sooner  or  later  the  companions  of  his  distresses 
and  failures.  For,  sir,  who  that  has  sincere  convictions 
about  his  work,  and  has  written  it  in  good  faith,  will 
rest  content  that  it  shall  be  censored  and  defamed  and 
destroyed  by  any  one,  or  any  three,  or  any  thirty 
Censors  you  may  appoint  ? 

Further,  it  will  not  be  the  three  men  who  will  give 
the  verdict.  As  in  most  cases  of  arbitration,  it  will 
generally  be  the  nominee  called  in  who  will  finally 
decide  the  matter.  Let  us  see  what  will  happen.  Firstly 
two  men  are  to  be  chosen,  one  of  them  by  the  Lord 
Chamberlain,  that  is,  virtually  by  the  Examiner  of  Plays. 
Now  unless  the  Examiner  of  Plays  wishes  to  stultify 
himself  he  will  take  care  that  this  first  arbitrator  shall 
be  on  his  side.  Otherwise  he  will  have  raised  the 
question  only  to  prove  that  he  is  a  bad  judge  and 
incompetent  for  his  office.  It  does  not  seem  to  be  a 
good  way  of  choosing  our  first  arbitrator.  For  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  he  will  be  the  Examiner  himself, 
and  according  to  his  strength  of  character  and  the 
strength  of  his  convictions ;  that  is,  according  to  his 
fitness  for  any  office,  the  Examiner  will  ensure  himself 
against  defeat.  So  our  first  arbitrator  has  already  given 
his  judgment.  Our  second  arbitrator  is  to  be  chosen  by 
the  Dramatic  Sub-Committee  of  the  Society  of  Authors. 
Here,  again,  the  author  of  the  play  will  take  care  to 
ensure  himself  from  defeat  beforehand,  by  seeing  that 
somebody  is  chosen  who  will  certainly  give  his  vote 
in  favour  of  his  client.  If  he  cannot  get  this  he  will,  if 
he  is  wise,  withdraw  his  play  and  find  the  very  easy 
means  of  working  an  agitation,  and  appealing  to  the 
public  at  once.  Thus  again  the  futility  of  the  Censor 
will  be  proved.  But  it  is  fairly  probable  that  our  author 
will  not  find  it  difficult  to  get  from  the  Dramatic  Sub- 
Committee  an  arbitrator  whose  verdict  will  be  firm  on 
his  side ;   as  the  sympathies  of  dramatic  authors  will 


3IO    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

generally  tend  to  be  with  him.  It  does  not  seem  to  be 
a  good  way  of  choosing  our  second  arbitrator. 
Because,  in  most  cases,  we  shall  merely  again  call  in 
one  whose  verdict  is  a  foregone  conclusion.  This  is, 
of  course,  what  happens  in  most  arbitration  cases— 
with  this  vast  difference— that  as  most  arbitrators  are 
judging  matters  of  ascertainable  facts  and  ascertainable 
values  they  must  be,  to  some  extent,  guided  to  their 
verdict  by  those  facts  and  values.  While  here  we  are 
called  upon  to  decide  upon  an  elusive  matter  of  opinion, 
where  personal  likings  and  personal  prejudices  can  hide 
themselves,  and  have  unfettered  and  even  unconscious 
sway.  Indeed,  here  we  come  upon  the  root  of  the 
whole  difficulty;  which  is,  that  we  are  trying  to  give 
a  hard  and  categorical  judgment  upon  a  most  elusive 
matter  of  opinion. 

Now  nothing  approaching  a  hard   and  categorical 
judgment  is  possible  when  the  question  is  that  of  the 
moral  effect  of  a  new  book  or  play  upon  the  general 
public.      Thus   Mr.    Godly-Slime   brings   out   his   new 
religious  melodrama,  Maria,  the  Martyr.     It  is  evident 
to  most  thinking  people  that  Maria,  the  Martyr,   is   a 
cheap  tawdry  sham  of  a  peculiarly  offensive  type— the 
religious  type.     But  many  quite  sincere  people  declare 
they  have  been  moved  and  uplifted  by  it.     And  some  of 
them  write  to  the  papers  and   say  that  in   producing 
Maria,  the  Martyr,  Mr.   Godly-Slime  has  helped  them 
to  save  their  souls ;  and  that  being  the  case,  they  are 
anxious  to  give  him  a  testimonial  to  that  effect.     And 
perhaps  Mr.  Godly-Slime  has  really  stirred  and  raised 
them.      Such    adepts    are   we   all   in   the  art    of   self- 
deception,  it  is  quite  likely  that  Mr.  Godly-Slime  him- 
self supposes  he  is  a  great  moral  elevator,  and  thrills 
with  the  delightful  sensations  of  having  morally  bene- 
fited the  public,  and  of  having  made  a  pot  of  money 
by  the  process.     At  any  rate  we  must  leave  the  public 
to    be    the   judges    of  whether  Maria,   the  Martyr,   is 
helping  them  to  save  their  souls.      Or  are  we  to  tell 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    311 

them  that  they  don't  know  when  their  souls  are  being 
saved ;  and  then  proceed  forcibly  to  defraud  them  of 
Mr.  Godly-Slime's  ministrations?  "You're  cutting  my 
nose,"  cried  out  the  lathered  patient  to  the  barber. 
"  Nonsense  !"  replied  the  barber;  "  allow  me  to  be  the 
best  judge  of  whether  I'm  cutting  your  nose  or  no." 
But  surely  we  must  allow  the  man  himself  to  be  the  best 
judge  in  such  intimate  matters  as  those  of  whether  his 
nose  is  being  cut,  and  whether  his  soul  is  being  saved. 

To  get  the  materials  for  forming  anything  approach- 
ing a  hard  and  categorical  judgment  of  the  moral  effect 
of  a  new  play  on  the  masses,  we  should  have  to  submit 
the  matter  to  the  country  in  the  form  of  a  referendum. 
It  would,  of  course,  be  very  costly  and  troublesome, 
but  it  would  give  us  a  basis  for  our  judgment.  But,  sir, 
this  is  what  I  am  proposing— a  referendum  that  will 
cost  us  neither  trouble  nor  money ;  since  if  we  leave  the 
matter  alone,  playgoers  are  already  willing  and  waiting 
to  give  us  the  only  materials  for  forming  a  judgment 
without  a  Censor  at  all. 

And  indeed  this  is  just  what  playgoers  are  already 
doing.  They  are  giving  us  the  materials  for  forming 
a  judgment ;  and  they  are  gradually  enforcing  their  own 
decision  upon  us,  in  spite  of  all  our  aggravating  inter- 
ference. Let  us  glance  at  the  plays  that  were  formerly 
vetoed  and  are  now  licensed — the  Dame  mix  CameliaSy 
Samson  and  Delilah,  and  several  others.  It  is  because 
at  last  the  public  judgment  has  found  a  troublesome  and 
roundabout,  but  effective,  way  of  expressing  itself  that 
these  plays  have  been  licensed.  For  the  rest,  the  plays 
that  have  disappeared,  or  about  which  there  is  no  present 
discussion,  they  are  in  exactly  the  same  position  as  they 
would  have  been  without  a  Censor — with  this  reserva- 
tion, that  many  of  them  would  have  disappeared  more 
quickly  if  he  hadn't  interfered. 

Why,  then,  should  we,  at  the  cost  of  all  this  bother, 
irritation,  and  money,  force  public  opinion  to  express 
itself  in  a  long,  troublesome,  and  roundabout  way,  only 


312    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

to  get  the  better  of  us  in  the  end;  when  it  is  waiting  to 
express  itself  directly  and  simply  without  the  least 
trouble,  in  the  only  way  conformable  to  English  feelings, 
and  to  the  spirit  of  the  English  law? 

A  hard  and  categorical  judgment  for  present  use  is 
what  is  required  of  the  Censor.  A  judgment  that  is  not 
hard  and  categorical  is  no  judgment  at  all.  And  the  hard 
and  categorical  judgment  he  can  only  form  by  the  means 
I  have  pointed  out — the  referendum. 

Let  us  return  to  our  arbitrators.  We  will  suppose 
them  to  have  met.  And  we  will  suppose  them  to  have 
been  chosen,  as  arbitrators  generally  are,  because  they 
are  reputed  to  be  experts  on  their  subject.  Naturally 
they  will  differ  diametrically,  as  competent  experts 
generally  do  on  any  subject.  And  this  natural  opposi- 
tion of  experts  will  be  stubbornly  reinforced  by  the 
implied  pledge  given  to  each  of  their  clients.  A  little 
formal  discussion  will  take  place,  and  then  will  come  a 
pull-devil  pull-baker  tussle  which  will  generally  be  quite 
friendly.  The  tussle  will  not  last  very  long,  because 
each  must  see  that  the  other  has  quite  plausible  reasons 
for  holding  out.  If  they  have  any  humour,  the  absurdity 
of  the  situation  and  the  hopelessness  of  their  task  will 
now  strike  them ;  and  if  they  are  sensible  men,  as 
humorous  men  generally  are,  they  will  shake  hands, 
have  a  good  dinner  together,  and  agree  to  refer  the 
matter  to  the  judge  who  ought  to  have  decided  it  at 
first,  and  who  must  decide  it  at  last,  however  many 
Censors  intervene— the  playgoing  public.  Let  us  hope 
this  is  what  will  happen  at  the  first  meeting  of  our 
arbitrators. 

But  they  may  not  see  the  absurdity  of  their  position, 
or  they  may  feel  bound  to  call  in  the  third  arbitrator. 
Here  we  get  back  to  the  one  man  Censor,  with  the  same 
impossibility  before  him  of  fixing  a  definite  satisfying 
judgment  on  a  matter  of  floating  opinion.  And  for  this 
most  delicate  and  arduous  task  of  somehow  temporarily 
appearing    to    solve    the    difficulty,    he    is,    it    seems, 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    313 

to    receive    very    poor    pay.     Poor     fellow,     in    both 
senses! 

The  third  arbitrator  is  then  to  be  nominated.  This 
is  almost  bound  to  happen  in  every  case.  If  they  can 
agree  on  him,  he  is  to  be  chosen  by  the  first  two  arbi- 
trators. If  they  are  loyal  to  their  respective  clients, 
they  won't  agree,  and  this  again  is  almost  sure  to  happen. 
Then  the  Prime  Minister  is  to  be  called  in. 

It  does  not  seem  to  be  a  good  way  of  choosing  our 
third  arbitrator.  It  seems  unkind  when  the  Prime 
Minister  is  already  engaged  in  solving  many  other  in- 
soluble problems,  to  drag  him  into  another  imbroglio, 
and  ask  him  to  search  for  some  man  who  can  do  the 
job  which  everybody  else  has  found  to  be  impossible. 
If  the  Prime  Minister  really  enters  upon  the  search  in 
earnest,  it  will  take  up  a  great  deal  of  his  time  ;  and  just 
now,  sir,  he  is  very  busy  looking  after  my  financial  con- 
cerns. I  will  yield  to  no  one  in  my  care  and  love  for  the 
interests  of  the  English  drama;  but  I  am  at  the  present 
moment  a  very  much  overburdened  taxpayer.  1  would, 
however,  put  my  own  pecuniary  interests  aside,  if  I  felt 
sure  the  Prime  Minister  would  succeed  in  his  search. 
But  I  have  the  gravest  doubts.  In  any  case  I  question 
if  for  the  next  few  years  the  Prime  Minister,  whether 
he  is  Mr.  Balsquith  or  Mr.  Askfour,  may  not  be  better 
employed  in  trying  to  lighten  our  financial  burdens,  than 
in  searching  for  temporary  Censors  for  the  English 
stage.  I'm  afraid  the  electors  on  both  sides  might  think 
he  was  making  a  bad  use  of  his  time. 

However,  granted  the  Prime  Minister  can  discover 
another  more  or  less  competent  expert,  we  are  still  in 
the  same  difficulty,  and  again  one  man  is  to  pronounce 
his  definite  judgment  on  an  elusive  matter  upon  which 
two  competent  experts  have  already  disagreed ;  and 
thereby  he  is  to  have  the  chance  of  ruining,  at  any  rate 
for  the  time,  any  rising  dramatist's  hopes  and  ambitions 
and  resources.  May  I  point  out,  sir,  that  the  whole  idea 
of  this  proposed  arbitration  rests  upon  the  assumption 


314    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

that  any  two  of  the  most  competent  available  experts  on 
it  are  sure  to  disagree — a  thing  that  ought  to  condemn 
it  at  once. 

However,  let  us  call  in  the  third  arbitrator.  The 
great  point  to  be  noticed  about  him  is  that  while  he  will 
virtually  be  a  temporary  autocratic  Censor,  and  there- 
fore open  to  all  the  objections  that  have  been  laid  at  the 
door  of  the  present  one ;  and  while  he  will  certainly  be 
badgered  and  assailed  in  the  same  fashion,  he  is  yet 
likely  to  be  a  far  less  competent  person  to  decide  the 
matter,  so  far  as  any  decision  is  possible.  The  present 
Censor  has  had  practice  and  routine  and  some  technical 
knowledge  to  guide  him  ;  he  is  backed  up  by  the  autho- 
rity of  the  government,  and  by  the  prestige  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain.  Yet  see  what  a  quagmire  he  is  in  !  Our 
temporary  Censor  will  have  none  of  these  advantages 
to  aid  him  in  securing  respect  for  his  verdict.  Then, 
again,  he  will  have  no  experience  of  the  work  of  his 
post.  Now  the  peculiarity  of  the  Censorship  is  that  it 
is  a  post  where  experience  can  be  of  no  value  at  all  in 
the  performance  of  its  duties,  but  is  of  enormous  use 
in  evading  and  escaping  from  its  difficulties.  And  the 
third  arbitrator  will  be  quite  without  this  necessary 
qualification. 

What  sort  of  man  is  likely  to  be  appointed  our  tem- 
porary Censor?  In  those  rare  cases  when  the  first  two 
arbitrators  agree  upon  a  man,  they  yet  cannot  possibly 
appoint  any  of  the  men  best  qualified  for  the  task.  Who 
are  the  best  men  ?  From  the  one  point  of  view  the  best 
man  for  the  task  would  be  an  experienced  dramatist. 
From  the  other  point  of  view  the  best  man  would  be  an 
experienced  moralist.  I  do  not  know  any  experienced 
moralist  who  is  an  experienced  dramatist.  And  I  much 
fear,  sir,  that  an  experienced  dramatist  might  not  be 
generally  accepted  as  an  experienced  moralist.  Though 
he  is  sometimes  a  great  moralist  while  the  Censor 
is  stifling  him,  and  a  rabble  is  hooting  him  for  being 
immoral. 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    315 

The  experienced  moralist  would  not  have  the  neces- 
sary acquaintance  with  the  dramatic  side  of  the  question 
and  all  its  ramifications.  Valuable  as  he  would  be  on 
the  one  side,  he  is  therefore  debarred  from  being  the 
sole  judge.  But  an  experienced  moralist  and  an  ex- 
perienced dramatist  together  would  seem  to  go  far 
towards  meeting  the  exigencies  of  the  case.  So  why 
not  drag  in  another  two  arbitrators  ?  Why  not  drag  in 
another  twenty?  Why  not  drag  in  another  two  thou- 
sand ? — Ah,  sir,  why  not  save  all  this  trouble  and  drag 
in  the  playgoing  public  at  once,  since  to  their  judgment 
it  must  come  at  last  ? 

The  experienced  moralist  is  therefore  debarred  from 
being  our  third  arbitrator.  The  experienced  dramatist 
is  obviously  the  best  man  for  the  job,  so  far  as  a  wide 
knowledge  of  the  whole  business  qualifies  him  to  judge. 
But  here  we  go  round  the  mulberry  bush  again ;  for  a 
dramatist,  and,  in  the  majority  of  the  cases  we  have 
considered,  a  very  experienced  dramatist — Sophocles, 
Ibsen,  Maeterlinck,  Brieux,  Shaw — was  the  original 
judge,  and  him  we  have  disqualified,  arraigned,  and 
dismissed  at  the  bidding  of  whom  ? — Mr.  Redford. 

I  do  not  claim  that  an  artist  is  always  the  best,  or  is 
always  even  a  capable,  judge  of  his  own  work.  Very 
often  he  is  not.  But  more  often  he  is ;  for  he  is  the 
only  man  who  accurately  knows  how  much  spiritual 
force  has  gone  out  of  him  to  produce  it.  And  the 
remarkable  thing  is  that  the  greater  the  artist,  the  more 
trustworthy,  as  a  rule,  his  judgment  has  been  ;  witness 
many  illustrious  examples,  where  the  great  artist  and 
the  great  poet  have  been  at  the  start  almost  solitary 
judges  of  the  real  value  of  their  work ;  and  where  the 
rightness  of  their  judgment  has  finally  been  confirmed, 
in  the  only  way  possible,  by  the  verdict  and  general 
acclamation  of  the  public.  At  any  rate,  the  living 
dramatists  who  have  been  Censored  are  certainly  far 
more  capable  judges  of  both  drama  and  morality  than 
any  Censor  who  has  yet  dawned  upon  the  horizon. 


3i6    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

To  return  to  our  third  arbitrator.  Forgive  me,  sir, 
for  bestowing  so  much  consideration  upon  him.  We 
are,  apparently,  threatened  with  being  placed  for  some 
years  to  come  under  the  jurisdiction  not  of  one  Censor, 
but  of  four.  It  is,  however,  the  third  arbitrator  who 
will  hold  the  key  of  the  position,  and  who  will  be  our 
master  so  far  as  his  power  extends.  It  is  therefore 
necessary  not  only  to  look  well  at  him,  but  to  strip 
him  bare,  to  turn  him  inside  out  and  upside  down.  It 
will  be  kinder  to  render  him  these  services  now,  rather 
than  to  leave  the  Stage  Society  to  do  it  more  publicly 
in  a  year  or  two's  time,  when  he  has  perhaps  done 
some  mischief  and  caused  another  scandal  like  the 
recent  one. 

We  have  seen  that  an  experienced  dramatist  has  the 
widest  knowledge  of  the  subject,  and  is  therefore  the 
man  our  two  original  arbitrators  ought  to  get.  Un- 
fortunately he  too  is  debarred.  He  would  not,  or 
rather  he  ought  not  to,  accept  the  position.  Not  indeed 
on  the  score  that  he  is  not  a  competent  moralist.  But  it 
is  not  fair  to  place  a  dramatic  author  in  a  position  where 
he  may  be  obliged,  if  he  is  an  honest  man,  publicly 
to  declare  that  his  friend's,  his  brother  author's  play  is 
immoral,  and  not  fit  to  be  seen  in  public.  How  many 
dramatic  authors  would  accept  such  a  responsibility  ? 
Generally,  of  :course,  his  sympathies  and  fellow-feeling 
would  ensure  his  verdict  for  the  author.  He  would 
almost  necessarily  be  the  echo  of  the  author's  arbitrator. 
Dramatic  authors  are  generally  friends,  but  little  differ- 
ences and  secret  enmities  do  occasionally  rise  amongst 
them.  In  any  case,  a  dramatic  author  as  arbitrator 
would  generally  be  the  friend,  always  the  competitor, 
sometimes  perhaps  the  unconscious  enemy  of  the  man 
whose  cause  he  was  called  upon  to  decide,  and  whose 
reputation  would  be  temporarily  placed  in  his  hands. 
He  could  not  be  an  unbiased  judge.  Again,  even  if  he 
could  be  quite  sure  of  his  freedom  from  all  kinds  of 
prejudice,  the  fact  that  he  might  be,  and  could  scarcely 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT     317 

help  being,  an  interested  and  biased  judge  would  tend 
to  discount  the  weight  of  his  verdict  with  the  public, 
whom,  it  may  be  observed,  we  have  to  call  in  at  every 
step.  On  all  these  counts,  then,  the  best  men,  in  respect 
of  knowledge  of  the  case,  are  disqualified  from  being 
chosen  as  our  third  arbitrator.  Seeing  the  best  men 
are  not  available,  our  first  two  arbitrators  must  try  to 
agree  upon  some  second  best  man.  Who  is  the  second 
best  man  for  the  job  ?  Probably  some  old  playgoer  of 
good  social  standing.  He  must  be  fairly  old,  so  as  to 
have  as  much  experience  of  the  working  of  the  engine 
as  can  be  gained  from  constantly  looking  at  its  boiler 
and  funnel,  and  hearing  it  whistle.  He  will  probably 
belong  to  the  good  old  ante-friction  days,  and  is  there- 
fore out  of  touch  with  the  present  and  swelling  currents 
of  public  opinion.  Anyhow,  he  is  the  best  man  we  can 
get,  and  we  must  put  up  with  him.  And  now,  sir,  it  has 
doubtless  struck  you  that  we  have  merely  gone  round 
the  mulberry  bush  once  more,  for  here  we  are  back 
again  at  the  paying  playgoing  public.  And  why  should 
one  member  rather  than  another  of  the  paying  playgoing 
public  be  called  upon  to  decide  this  important  question  ? 
Many  thousands  of  them  have  equal  qualifications. 
Why  call  in  one  of  them  when  so  large  a  number  of 
them  are  competent  to  be  judges  of  their  own  business, 
and  are  ready  to  relieve  us  of  all  the  bother?  That,  as 
a  general  rule,  they  are  competent  I  have  abundantly 
shown,  for  I  have  brought  before  you  many  millions  of 
them,  who  have  been  illegally  taking  care  of  their  own 
morality  in  the  variety  theatres  for  the  last  ten  years 
or  so. 

There  was  once  a  man  who  very  piously  wound  up 
his  clock  every  night  for  twenty  years.  At  the  end  of 
twenty  years  he  discovered  it  to  be  an  eight-day  clock. 

But  as  was  clearly  shown,  it  is  highly  improbable 
that  our  first  two  arbitrators  will  agree.  Except  in  very 
rare  cases  it  is  the  Prime  Minister  who  will  have  to 
hunt  up  our  third  arbitrator.     1  say  "  hunt  up,"  because, 


3i8    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

as  vvc  have  seen,  he  is  a  very  difficult  man  to  find.  And 
if  the  Prime  Minister  is  merely  going  to  nod  or  beckon 
to  somebody  in  a  haphazard  way,  then  the  business  is 
likely  to  be  marred  still  further,  and  we  get  less  security 
than  ever.  No.  Let  us  hope  that  when  the  Prime 
Minister  does  tackle  this  business,  he  will  set  about  it 
in  a  grave,  severe,  conscientious  way.  And  then  if  he 
does  make  a  huge  mistake,  he  can  claim  that  he  made 
it,  like  Bridlegoose,  or  Foresight  in  Congreve's  comedy, 
after  a  great  deal  of  painstaking,  laborious  zeal  and 
deliberation.  And,  sir,  this  sovereign  merit,  the  merit 
of  having  made  a  huge  mistake  after  much  earnest 
thought  and  labour  —  this  evergreen  laurel  wreath 
hangs  easily  within  reach  of  your  brows  and  the  brows 
of  your  fellow  Committeemen,  if  you  advise  the  renewal 
of  the  Censor  on  the  English  stage. 

Well,  the  Prime  Minister  obligingly  puts  aside  the 
business  of  the  nation  and  addresses  himself  to  the 
serious  work  of  finding  our  third  arbitrator.  The 
Prime  Minister  will  find  himself  in  something  of  a 
dilemma.  Here  is  a  very  thorny  and  vexatious  little 
business ;  at  present  of  no  political  importance,  but 
which  might  conceivably  flame  out  into  a  big  blaze. 
Suppose  somebody  were  to  write  a  political  play  deal- 
ing in  a  serious  way  with  some  social-political  question 
upon  which  the  political  parties  were  divided.  The 
conditions  are  all  ripe  for  it ;  pamphlet  plays  are  the 
fashion  of  the  day;  a  body  of  earnest,  determined  men 
would  be  ready  to  take  it  up,  snap  their  fingers  at  our 
arbitrators,  and  triumphantly  get  the  piece  played — 
which  would  not  be  difficult,  as  experience  has  shown. 
No  harm  would  be  done  to  the  public;  indeed,  some 
good  might  come  of  it.  For  quite  possibly  the  question 
might  be  treated  in  a  loftier  and  more  searching  way  on 
the  stage  than  by  debate  in  the  House  of  Commons;  it 
might  be  handled  in  a  spirit  free  from  party  jealousies, 
and  ambitions,  and  exigencies.  No  harm  would  be  done 
to    the    public;    but    in    the    hurly-burly   considerable 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    319 

disturbance  and  damage  might  be  wrought  politically — 
on  the  wrong  side,  of  course.  The  matter  might  become 
alarming. 

The  Prime  Minister  is  our  last  hope.  We  are  in  a 
more  desperate  tangle  than  ever;  we  cling  to  him  and 
beseech  him  on  our  knees  to  appoint  somebody  to  solve 
this  insoluble  problem. 

Who  is  now  the  best  man  available  for  us?  The 
post  has  unexpectedly  become  a  political  one.  Whom 
shall  we  get?  You  know  the  kind  of  man,  sir,  who  is 
usually  appointed  to  this  sort  of  job.  A  safe  man  is  the 
only  man  who  can  get  us  to  some  temporary  anchorage. 
A  safe  man  is  necessary  to  preside  here,  as  indeed 
in  most  cases  of  arbitration.  Arbitration  means  com- 
promise, and  in  cases  that  can  be  settled  by  arbitration, 
the  safe  man  is  the  right  man.  He  can  give  a  bit  to  one, 
and  a  bit  to  the  other;  fourpence  to  Smith,  twopence 
ha'penny  to  Brown.  But  arbitration  is  useless  where 
no  compromise  is  possible,  where  a  plain  "Yes"  or 
"  No  "  is  the  only  answer  that  can  be  given.  It  is  not 
an  arbitrator,  or  three,  or  thirty  arbitrators  that  we 
want;  but  a  judge,  or  three  judges,  or  three  thousand 
judges  who  have  authority  to  enforce  their  decision. 
Such  a  judge  we  have  in  the  playgoing  public. 

In  religion  and  in  politics  safe  men  are  often  very 
useful ;  but  in  literature  and  art  they  are  eternally 
our  pestilent  obstructors  and  stumbling-blocks, — and 
generally  our  presidents  and  chairmen. 

To  return.  A  safe,  respectable  man  who  will  quiet 
things  down  awhile  is  now  our  only  possible  Censor. 
He  settles  himself  to  his  task.  He  sees  that  it  is  hope- 
less so  far  as  concerns  the  original  purpose  of  the 
inquiry,  that  of  giving  an  unbiased  decisive  "  Yes  "  or 
"  No "  as  to  the  effect  of  the  play  on  public  morality. 
That  purpose  has  now  disappeared,  and  so  far  as 
possible  must  be  covered  up.  He  is  not  there  to  judge 
the  play,  but  to  get  his  party  out  of  a  threatened  mess. 
His  verdict   must  go  accordingly.      He  does  his  best 


320    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

to  quiet  things  down;  if  he  is  a  clever  man  he  does 
perhaps  somehow  get  them  more  or  less  quieted  down 
for  the  time.  Meantime  the  Stage  Society  has  been 
giving  performances  of  the  play.  In  a  short  time,  how- 
ever, things  quiet  down  of  themselves,  according  to  the 
fashion  of  all  human  affairs.  A  few  months  pass  by, 
possibly  a  few  years,  and  then  another  play  turns  up ; 
again  our  Censors  are  called  in,  again  there  is  a  scandal, 
again  the  play  is  performed,  and  again  the  Censors  are 
defeated.  And  so  we  go  round  the  mulberry  bush 
again.  Such  is  the  indomitable  pig-headedness  of  facts. 
They  never  will  listen  to  reason,  but  stick  doggedly 
there,  waiting  till  reason  listens  to  them. 

I  fear  I  must  have  wearied  your  patience,  sir.  But 
errors  and  fallacies  die  so  hard  that  once  killing  them 
does  them  no  harm.  They  have  to  be  killed  twenty 
times  over.  And  this  grotesque  Jack's  giant  of  a  third 
arbitrator  threatened  to  stalk  about  our  English  stage, 
and  cause  so  much  trouble  to  future  chairmen  of  future 
Censorship  Committees  that  I  hope  they  at  least,  if 
you  cannot,  will  pardon  me  for  having  tried  to  get  rid 
of  him. 

One  reason  that  makes  the  Censorship  impossible 
to-day  lies  in  the  fact  that  modern  plays  are  no  longer 
chiefly  pieces  of  declamation  and  lengths  of  dialogue, 
as  they  were  when  the  Censorship  was  established. 
When  there  were  but  few  theatres,  and  these  were  all 
playing  pieces  whose  text  was  their  main  feature,  that 
text,  and  whatever  business  was  its  necessary  illustra- 
tion, could  easily  be  kept  under  the  Censor's  vigilance. 
To-day  it  is  not  so.  The  Censor  sits  in  his  office  veto- 
ing Sophocles  and  Shelley  and  Ibsen,  and  their  kin 
ancient  and  modern,  with  the  full  text  of  their  plays 
before  him.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Slangwheezy  and  Mr. 
Bawlrot  are  almost  out  of  his  reach,  and  Mr.  Bluewink 
and  Mr.  Leerit  slip  away  from  him  altogether.  And 
this  will  continue  under  any  form  of  Censorship  that 
can  be  devised ;  so  large  and  important  is  that  part  ot 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    321 

modern  stage  work  which  lies  outside  the  mere  bare 
words. 

What  follows  from  this?  If  you  renew  the  Censor- 
ship at  all,  you  will  in  fact  be  setting  up  a  form  of 
literary  Censorship,  not  over  literature  generally,  but 
over  Sophocles  and  Shelley,  and  rising  and  sincere 
modern  dramatists.  Having  regard  to  what  has  been 
urged  about  the  essential  sameness  of  the  spoken  and 
the  written  word,  I  submit  to  you,  sir,  that  the  question 
you  are  really  deliberating  is  whether  you  shall  continue 
a  literary  Censorship ;  at  least  a  Censorship  radically 
of  the  same  kind  and  hitherto  kept  in  existence  by  the 
same  arguments  and  considerations  as  the  Censorship 
which  Milton  destroyed  two  hundred  and  fifty  years 
ago.  This  point  has  already  been  ably  argued  before 
you ;  and  I  need  not  dwell  upon  it,  except  to  claim  that 
it  securely  classes  the  reasons  for  the  abolition  of 
the  Censorship  with  those  reasons  that  prevailed  to 
remove  the  literary  Censorship,  and  to  remove  religious 
disabilities — that  is  to  say,  it  brings  our  pleading  into 
harmony  with  the  great  principle  of  toleration  which 
has  guided  English  state  policy  for  some  centuries. 

May  I,  with  the  greatest  respect,  point  out  to  you, 
sir,  that  the  abolition  of  the  Censorship  is  part  of  the 
wise  and  fruitful  policy  which  gave  votes  and  political 
power  to  the  great  race  from  which  you  sprung;  and 
without  whose  benevolent  operation  you  would  not 
now  be  a  member  of  the  English  government,  sitting  to 
judge  this  matter?  It  would  be  a  pleasing  and  fitting 
thing  if  you,  sir,  should  direct  the  building  of  this  last 
missing  pinnacle  upon  the  great  edifice  of  toleration 
which  has  been  slowly  raised  in  England  during  these 
centuries. 

But  if  you  and  your  Committee  are  tempted  to  renew 
the  Censorship,  may  I  respectfully  submit  to  you,  sir, 
that  it  can  never  have  any  secure  existence  ?  The 
Censorship  of  Plays  can  only  be  securely  established  in 
England,  if  and  when  some  kind  of  a  Catholic  Church 

Y 


322    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

is  also  securely  established.  And  when  a  Catholic 
Church  (not  necessarily  the  Roman)  is  established, 
many  other  things  besides  plays  may  be  harmoniously, 
and  indeed  will  necessarily  have  to  be,  censored  as  well. 

I  have  brought  before  you  the  testimony  of  what  is 
practically  the  whole  body  of  English  playgoers— the 
testimony  not  of  their  mouths,  but  the  more  telling 
one  of  their  behaviour  in  the  theatre  for  the  last  fifteen 
years.  Will  you  let  me  bring  in  one  further  witness 
before  the  inquiry  is  finally  closed— that  of  the  greatest 
and  sanest  voice  that  has  been  heard  in  Europe  since 
Bacon?  When  we  can  get  a  pronouncement  from  Goethe 
it  is  worth  heeding.  Will  you  then,  sir,  allow  Goethe  to 
be  the  last  witness  to  appear  before  you?  Goethe  had 
many  wonderful  divinations,^  and,  curiously  enough,  he 
divined  our  present  perplexities,  and  their  innocent  and 
adorable  cause — the  young  lady  of  fifteen. 

Goethe  says,  "  What  business  have  our  young  girls 
at  the  theatre  ?  The  theatre  is  for  men  and  women  who 
know  something  of  human  afiairs.  But  now  we  cannot 
get  rid  of  these  young  girls,  and  pieces  which  are  weak, 
and  therefore  proper^  will  continue  to  be  produced.  Be 
wise  and  stay  away,  as  I  do."  Stay  away  from  the 
theatre  !  Goethe,  who  was  such  a  lover  of  the  theatre ! 
Stay  away  from  it !  Yes,  naturally,  when  weak  Rnd  proper 
pieces  are  being  produced,  weak  and  proper  persons  go 
to  see  them,  and  intellectual  people  stay  away.  Goethe 
stayed  away  from  the  theatre  for  the  same  reason  that 
intellectual  playgoers  in  England  have  been  staying 
away  from  our  English  theatre  for  some  generations.  So 
if  we  are  to  have  a  living  drama  in  England,  to  that 
extent  the  dearling  maiden  must  be  disregarded  by  the 

'  Perhaps  the  most  marvellous  of  all  Goethe's  divinations  was  that  on 
our  Irish  policy.  In  1829  he  said,  "  Catholic  Emancipation  will  not  cure 
the  woes  of  Ireland.  There  is  no  cure  for  the  woes  of  Ireland."  Has 
this  fact  ever  been  noted  in  Parliament .?  Goethe's  prophecy  has  been 
constantly  verified  during  the  past  eighty  years,  and  seems  about  to 
receive  a  new  reinforcement. 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    323 

dramatist.  Is  she  then  not  to  be  considered  at  all  ?  Is 
she  to  be  shocked  and  sullied  at  random?  No!  No! 
No  !  and  yet  No,  again  !  She  is  our  maturing  queen-bee, 
and  holds  all  the  future  life  and  welfare  of  our  hive. 
Seeing  how  much  is  at  stake  here,  she  must  be  protected 
most  rigorously  —  by  her  father  and  mother.  The 
dramatist  is  not  her  guardian.  Still  less  can  the 
Censor  be  her  effectual  guardian.  Till  a  certain  age,  I 
should  make  it  a  year  or  two  later  than  fifteen,  she 
should  be  taken  only  to  plays  that  do  not  portray  life  in 
a  deep  and  searching  way — may  we  not  say,  in  a  sincere 
way?  There  are  many  theatres  in  London  where  such 
pieces  are  being  played.  She  is  in  no  danger  of  being 
left  to  mope  at  home.  But  even  here,  in  our  scientific 
world  of  to-day,  it  is  a  balancing  of  good  and  evil  that 
must  decide  how  much,  and  how  long,  knowledge  shall 
be  withheld  from  her.  Again  Goethe  has  a  wise  word  on 
it.  "Life,"  he  says,  "daily  displays  the  most  scandalous 
scenes  in  abundance.  With  children,  people  need  by  no 
means  be  so  anxious  about  the  effect  of  a  book  or  a  play. 
Daily  life  is  more  instructive  than  the  most  effective 
books  or  plays."  The  world  at  large  to-day  produces 
far  more  scandalous  plays  than  the  English  stage,  and 
children  cannot  be  kept  from  constantly  seeing  and 
hearing  them. 

Again,  about  one  of  our  recently  vetoed  authors 
Goethe  says,  "  If  a  poet  has  as  high  a  soul  as  Sophocles 
his  influence  will  always  be  moral,  let  him  do  what 
he  will."  Mark  that,  Mr.  Licensor.  Is  (Edipus  still 
unlicensed? 

Again,  Goethe  has  a  word  of  admonition  for  some  of 
our  "  pioneers."  Speaking  of  certain  authors  he  says, 
"  They  write  as  if  they  were  ill,  and  the  whole  world 
was  a  lazaretto.  They  speak  of  the  v/oe  and  misery  of 
this  earth."  He  complains  that  they  do  not  make  us 
"contented  with  the  world  and  our  condition,"  and  he 
contrasts  them  with  authors  "who  arm  men  with 
courage  to  undergo  the  conflicts  of  life."    How  few  of 


324    FOUNDATIONS  OF    A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

our  pioneers  "  arm  us  with  courage  to  undergo  the 
conflicts  of  life  " 

Goethe  has  two  passages  bearing  directly  on  our 
present  discussion.  He  says,  "'Cain'  was  at  first  pro- 
hibited in  England.  It  was  folly,  for  there  is  nothing  in 
'Cain'  which  is  not  taught  by  the  English  Bishops 
themselves." 

And  for  a  last  piece  of  evidence  to  bring  before  you, 
sir,  what  could  be  more  conclusive  than  the  following : 
"  With  '  Werther '  people  found  so  much  fault,  that  if  I 
had  erased  every  passage  that  was  censured,  scarcely 
a  line  of  the  whole  book  would  have  been  left.  How- 
ever, all  the  censure  did  me  no  harm,  for  these  subjective 
judgments  of  individuals,  important  as  they  may  be,  are 
at  last  rectified  by  the  masses." 

"  Rectified  by  the  masses  "  !  It  is  Goethe's  verdict 
on  Censorships.  It  is  the  bitter  epitaph  on  all  Censor- 
ships, 

Ever  since  Englishmen  found  out  that  burning  each 
other  was  not  a  convincing  or  conclusive  way  of  settling 
differences  of  opinions  and  ideas,  the  great  principle  of 
toleration  has  guided  English  state  policy.  Our  present 
plea  is  founded  upon  it.  Will  you  not  take  the  honour 
that  will  fall  to  him  who,  sooner  or  later,  applies  it  to 
the  English  drama?  Or  will  you  re-establish  some 
form  of  Censorship  to  be  a  pompous  farce  for  the 
public;  a  festering  little  thorn  in  the  hand  of  future 
governments ;  a  tangle  of  worries  for  a  future  Censorship 
Committee;  and  a  continual  mockery  of  your  present 
proceedings? 

I  ask  your  pardon  for  this  long  intrusion.  At  start- 
ing I  had  no  intention  of  trespassing  so  far  upon  your 
time  and  patience.  But  seeing  there  was  no  chance  of 
my  being  cross-examined  on  the  points  I  was  raising,  I 
had  to  try  to  meet  all  possible  objections  and  inquiries. 

May  I  beg  your  indulgence  for  a  little  longer,  while 
I  enter  upon  the  far  more  pleasant  work  of  construction  ? 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    325 

May  I  submit  a  scheme  which  seems  to  offer  the  hope 
of  a  settlement  of  our  difficulties?  It  has  at  least  these 
merits:  it  is  simple;  it  is  comprehensive;  it  is  not 
costly ;  it  promises  to  work  easily ;  so  far  as  any 
arrangement  can  be  final,  it  promises  a  permanent 
settlement ;  above  all,  it  is  in  the  spirit  of  English  law 
making,  and  not  outside  general  English  law  altogether, 
as  the  Censorship  is,  and  must  be. 

Many  years  ago,  writing  on  this  subject,  I  said  : 
"  If  the  Censor  is  to  be  continued,  let  him  look  upon 
himself  as  a  policeman  to  stop  indecency.  Let  him  not 
meddle  with  morality  or  immorality."  This  radical 
diff"erence  between  indecency  and  immorality,  which 
indeed  governs  the  whole  question,  was  clearly  brought 
out  before  you  in  the  evidence  of  the  Bishop  of  South- 
wark ;  a  high  clear  utterance,  a  very  lofty  voice,  speaking 
in  the  manner  of  the  noblest  traditions  of  the  English 
Church. 

O  high  clear  thoughts,  high  clear  words,  high  clear 
deeds.  Saviours  of  Israel,  why  are  ye  as  strangers  in 
the  land,  and  as  wayfaring  men  that  tarry  for  a 
night  ? 

English  dramatists  and  English  actors  should  always 
keep  within  earshot  of  the  Bishop  of  Southwark's  words. 
They  are  a  powerful  witness  to  the  essential  dignity  to 
our  callings. 

The  Bishop's  distinction  between  immorality  and 
indeceney  goes  to  the  root  of  the  matter.  We  are  all 
substantially  agreed  about  what  is  indecency.  Within 
very  narrow  limits,  it  is  distinguishable  by  every  citizen, 
and  there  is  little  possibility  of  any  one  mistaking  it. 
It  is  not  so  with  immorality.  It  is  not  so  with  morality. 
Least  of  all  is  it  so  with  that  intrinsic  morality  which  is 
the  spirit  of  some  works  of  art  and  literature  that  at  the 
first  glance  are  outwardly  repulsive.  Here,  sir,  the 
average  citizen  will  tell  me  that  he  does  know  what 
morality  is.  Bear  with  me  a  moment  while  I  show  him 
how  confused  are  his  stock   notions  of  morality.    To 


326    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

use  Milton's  phrase,  let  me  "stagger  him  out  of  his 
catechism." 

The  average  citizen  holds  Hamlet  in  reverence. 
He  places  it  in  his  daughter's  hands,  and,  as  a  rule,  he 
allows  her  to  go  to  a  theatre  to  see  it.  It  is,  perhaps, 
the  most  frequently  played  piece  on  the  English  stage. 
It  deals  with  an  incestuous  marriage,  and  the  average 
citizen  would  to-day  boo  it  from  the  stage  and  repeat 
his  favourite  catchword,  "  How  is  it  our  leading  drama- 
tists will  choose  these  very  unpleasant  subjects?" 

So  much  for  the  natural  opinion  of  the  average 
citizen  on  the  morality  o{  Hamlet 

Let  me  stagger  him  further.  We  have  seen  how 
confused  are  the  notions  of  the  average  playgoer  on 
morality.  Let  us  now  see  how  confused  are  the  notions 
of  the  average  churchgoer. 

Next  Sunday  morning  in  every  English  church  and 
chapel  the  average  citizen  will  sing  with  fervour  the 
psalms  of  a  treacherous  murderer,  liar,  and  adulterer — ■ 
"Send  me  Uriah  the  Hittite  "  ;  "Why  didst  thou  not  go 
down  to  thy  house?"  "Tarry  here  to-day  also  ";  "Set 
Uriah  in  the  forefront  of  the  hottest  battle,  and  retire  ye 
from  him  that  he  may  be  smitten  and  die."  The  foul, 
sneaking  murderer!  The  cunning,  planning,  deliberate 
murderer!  Who  is  it  speaking?  Is  it  Macbeth?  No, 
Macbeth  was  at  least  a  faithful  spouse,  and  this  man 
is  an  adulterer  as  well  as  a  murderer.  Who  is  it 
speaking  ?  It  is  the  man  after  God's  own  heart !  Ah, 
but  he  repented  !  Then  let  us  give  him  sympathy  as 
deep  as  his  sin,  as  deep  as  his  contrition.  For  in  one 
by-path  or  another,  all  we  like  sheep  have  gone  astray, 
and  there  is  no  health  in  us.  Yes,  let  us  make  haste  to 
forgive  him  entirely !  But  take  him  to  our  hearts  and 
homes  ?  Quote  him  ?  Sing  him  ?  Make  him  the  daily 
companion  and  adviser  of  our  innocent  boys  and  girls? 
Hold  him  up  to  their  admiration  and  love?     Enrol  him 

as  a  saint?     If  this   had   happened   in   Brixton   ! 

Sort  out  your  ideas  of  morality,  Mr.  Average  Citizen ! 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    327 

How  can  you  for  one  moment  admit  such  a  man  as 
David  into  the  bosom  of  your  family  ?  You  call  your- 
self a  judge  of  morality,  Mr.  Average  Citizen! 

Yes,  and  so  you  are  in  the  long  run.  Through  his 
terrible  sins  you  have  discerned  the  royal  qualities  of 
the  man  ;  his  instinctive  nobility  ("  When  one  told  me, 
*  Behold  Saul  is  dead,'  thinking  to  have  brought  good 
tidings,  I  took  hold  of  him  and  slew  him,  who  thought 
that  I  would  have  given  him  a  reward ") ;  his  capacity 
to  rule  ("  Whatsoever  the  King  did  pleased  all  the 
people");  his  chivalry  ("Oh  that  one  would  give  me 
drink  of  the  water  of  the  well  of  Bethlehem");  his 
courage  ("  Let  no  man's  heart  fail,  thy  servant  will  go 
and  fight  this  Philistine");  his  loyal  friendship  ("I  am 
distressed  for  thee,  my  brother  Jonathan  ") ;  his  wise 
acceptance  of  Death  ("  While  the  child  was  yet  alive  I 
fasted  and  wept ") ;  his  boundless  fatherly  love  ("  Oh 
Absalom,  my  son,  my  son ! ") ;  his  instant  response  to 
Nathan's  rebuke  ("  I  have  sinned  against  the  Lord  ") ; 
his  cheerful  religion  ("The  King  shall  joy  in  Thy 
strength,  O  Lord") — Ah,  Mr.  Average  Citizen,  your 
instinct  is  true,  your  verdict  on  David  is  just.  You 
have  most  rightly  made  him  a  saint  and  an  exemplar — 
you  have  most  rightly  made  him  the  loved  companion 
of  your  boys  and  girls. 

Why  shouldn't  King  David  be  seen  on  our  stage? 
For  is  there  anywhere  to  be  found  so  astonishing  a 
compass  of  human  activities,  affections,  sympathies, 
aspirations,  adventures,  sins,  crimes,  virtues,  loves,  hates, 
revenges,  miseries,  repentances,  despairs,  triumphs — • 
son,  brother,  father,  husband,  shepherd,  giantkiller, 
musician,  actor,  liar,  lover,  murderer,  adulterer,  captain, 
warrior,  legislator,  prophet,  poet,  king — is  there  in  all 
history  or  poetry  or  fiction,  a  character  that  stands  up 
to  give  us  such  complete  assurance  of  being  a  man,  as 
that  of  David  as  portrayed  in  the  Bible?  I  know  of 
nothing  that  comes  near  it.  Here  is  our  superman. 
Not  in   the   future,  for  we  cannot   so  marshal  all  the 


328    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

thousand  baffling  factors  as  to  have  the  faintest  idea  of 
what  our  future  superman  will  be  like.  Certainly  we 
can  never  consciously  evolve  him.  Here  is  our  super- 
man, ready  to  our  hand — David,  King  of  Israel. 

But  if  the  case  of  David  had  been  a  present-day  one, 
and  had  come  before  a  modern  Censor,  do  you  suppose 
David  would  have  been  passed  at  all,  and  allowed  to 
exercise  his  deep  religious  influence  on  your  family? 
No,  if  our  modern  Censor  had  been  called  in,  David 
would  have  been  hounded  out  of  decent  Brixton  society. 
Nay,  if  you  were  Censor  to-day  yourself,  Mr.  Average 
Citizen,  would  you  not  veto  him,  out  of  a  correct  sense 
of  what  you  owe  to  your  office,  and  a  muddled  sense  of 
what  you  owe  to  your  family  ? 

Why  shouldn't  you  have  David  as  a  hero  of  a  modern 
play?  You  cannot,  however  reverently  he  ma}^  be 
treated.  You  cannot  have  David,  but  you  can  have 
Mr.  Smallfilth,  Mr.  Bluewink,  Mr.  Bawlrot,  Mr.  Apegrin, 
Mr.  Leerit,  and  the  rest.  Well,  have  them !  Re-estab- 
lish your  Censor  over  you,  and  have  them  !  You  who 
had  Shakespeare  without  a  Censor,  continue  with  a 
Censor  to  have  the  most  impotent,  ineffectual  stage 
amongst  the  great  nations. 

You  want  no  Censor,  Mr.  Average  Citizen,  to  look 
after  your  morality.  But  wake  up,  man,  and  look  after 
it  yourself!  You  have  no  right  to  put  a  man  in  office 
to  guard  your  morality,  for  then  you  go  to  sleep  over  it 
yourself 

I  have  tried  to  show  the  point  of  view  of  the  average 
citizen,  or  what  would  be  his  point  of  view,  if  the  case 
of  David  had  not  long  ago  been  sifted  and  "  rectified  by 
the  masses."  Not  by  the  masses  of  any  one  "present" 
day,  but  by  the  masses  in  the  course  of  time. 

The  average  citizen  cannot,  it  seems,  be  sure  that 
his  individual  judgment  is  well  founded  any  more  than 
can  the  Censor.  All  our  individual  judgments,  whether 
of  Censor  or  citizen,  on  morality,  especially  on  intrinsic 
morality,  have  finally  to  be  "  rectified  by  the  masses." 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    329 

This  distinction,  tlien,  between  indecency  and  im- 
morality, or  rather  morality,  is  our  guide.  We  can  be 
pretty  sure  of  ourselves  about  what  constitutes  in- 
decency. We  cannot  be  immediately  sure  of  ourselves 
as  to  what  constitutes  intrinsic  morality;  or  rather  the 
more  sure  each  individual  of  us  may  be,  the  more  sure 
somebody  else  is  that  he  is  wrong.  What  is  the 
conclusion  ? 

We  want  an  Inspector.     We  do  not  want  a  Censor. 

Away  with  the  very  word  Censor,  with  its  tiresome 
and  hateful  associations. 

Let  us  have  one  Inspector-General  of  all  the  theatres 
and  music  halls  in  the  kingdom.  No  prosecution  shall 
be  started  except  through  and  by  him.  No  more  than 
the  Censor  must  he  be  brought  in  before  production. 
No  more  than  the  Censor  must  he  be  allowed  to  pre- 
judice a  performance  by  stopping  it  beforehand. 

Doubtless  it  would  be  advisable  in  many  cases  if  the 
Inspector  could  be  brought  in  beforehand.  It  is,  how- 
ever, impossible,  except  in  ascertained  cases  of  promised 
unmistakable  indecency.  Our  safeguard  is  the  fact  that 
no  outrageously  indecent  performance  is  likely  to  take 
place.  No  manager  is  going  to  give  a  performance  ot 
Eliza  taking  her  bath.  If  he  does  he  will  be  promptly 
bundled  off  to  prison  by  the  local  police.  The  common 
law  of  the  land  as  to  indecent  exhibitions  will  remain 
in  force,  and  can  be  put  in  operation.  But  anything 
that  is  not  so  palpably  indecent  as  to  offer  no  doubt 
should  be  left  to  our  Inspector.  He  cannot,  of  course, 
be  on  the  spot ;  but  from  any  part  of  Great  Britain 
he  can  be  summoned  by  telegraph,  and  can  appear  in 
the  vast  majority  of  cases  before  the  next  performance 
takes  place.  He  shall  be  instructed  that  in  no  case,  or 
on  any  pretext,  shall  he  meddle  with  problems  of 
morality,  but  only  with  exhibitions  of  indecency.  In 
cases  of  flagrant  and  unmistakable  indecency,  he  shall 
have  power  to  stop  the  performance  at  his  discretion, 
to  collect  evidence,  and  to  bring  the  matter  before  the 


330    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

Attorney-General.  The  Attorney-General  shall  then 
decide  whether  a  prosecution  shall  be  instituted,  or 
whether  the  offenders  shall  be  dismissed  with  a  caution. 
In  all  probability  the  latter  will  be  the  usual  course 
that  the  Attorney-General  will  take,  as  it  will  avoid 
airing  the  matter  any  further  in  public ;  the  defendants 
will  have  suffered  loss ;  and  the  caution  will  generally 
be  sufficient. 

We  are  now  in  the  hands  of  the  Attorney^General. 
So  far  as  the  matter  is  one  of  political  expediency,  we 
are  obviously  in  the  right  hands;  and  so  far  as  there 
may  be  political  reasons  for  interfering  it  will  be  odd 
if  the  Attorney-General  is  not  a  good  enough  lawyer 
to  find  a  sufficient  excuse  for  holding  any  play  over 
for  a  time  if  he  thinks  it  advisable.  Of  course  political 
expediency  cannot  pronounce  the  final  verdict,  but  the 
scheme  does  give  the  government  of  the  day  a  strong 
control  over  the  whole  matter. 

In  every  theatre  and  music  hall  of  the  kingdom  shall 
be  conspicuously  placed  a  large  notice  giving  the  In- 
spector's name,  his  full  address,  his  telegraphic  address, 
and  his  telephonic  number.  Instructions  shall  be  added 
to  the  effect  that  he  must  not  be  telegraphed  for  unless 
there  is  an  exhibition  which  is  flagrantly  indecent.  In 
slighter  cases  any  member  of  an  audience  can  write  full 
particulars  to  the  Inspector  and  ask  for  his  intervention. 
If  reasonable  cause  has  been  made  out  in  the  letter  the 
Inspector  will  go  down  and  judge  for  himself  In  no 
case  will  there  be  great  delay,  or  any  reason  to  fear  any 
long  continuance  of  an  outrageous  performance.  In 
most  cases,  doubtless,  the  Inspector,  having  made  a 
personal  visit,  will  not  think  it  necessary  to  go  so 
far  as  to  stop  the  performance.  He  will  suggest  the 
omission  of  undesirable  features;  he  will  stop  and  see 
this  done;  he  will  caution  the  offenders  and  threaten 
them  with  a  prosecution.  In  many  cases  the  Inspector 
need  not  be  communicated  with  at  all.  Any  member  ox 
the  audience  seeing  an  objectionable  feature  can  threaten 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    331 

the  performer  that  unless  it  is  altered  the  Inspector  will 
be  summoned.  And  this  will  probably  be  sufficient  in 
the  overwhelming  majority  of  cases.  At  all  points  on 
the  down  grade  from  indelicacy  to  downright  indecency, 
a  stronger  and  stronger  brake  can  be  applied  according 
to  the  emergency. 

The  Inspector  shall  be  instructed  not  to  loiter  in- 
actively until  he  is  called  upon,  but  constantly  to  pay 
visits  all  round,  and  especially  to  such  theatres  and 
halls  as  he  might  think  likely  to  contain  offenders. 
When  a  case  is  carried  to  a  prosecution,  that  prosecu- 
tion should  be  made  very  severe,  and  no  mercy  should 
be  shown  to  the  offenders ;  so  that  it  may  be  clearly 
understood  from  the  beginning  that  there  shall  be  no 
trifling.  The  fact  that  there  is  an  alert  man  in  office 
whose  business  it  is  to  keep  order,  will  soon  stop  the 
worst  offences.     Indeed  they  will  most  rarely  occur. 

Let  theatres  and  music  halls  alike  be  given  one 
licence  and  placed  under  the  Inspector-General,  who  can 
have  one  or  two  assistants  if  it  is  found  necessary. 

Let  plays  be  legalized  in  music  halls  at  once ; 
plays  of  all  lengths.  The  thirty-minutes  sketch  must 
inevitably  be  licensed  forthwith.  Mr.  Cecil  Raleigh 
estimates  that  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  illegal 
performances  are  given  every  year.  Surely  law- 
breaking  cannot  be  permitted  to  go  on,  and  grow  on, 
at  this  prodigious  rate.  The  sketches  must  be  legalized 
at  once. 

It  will  be  wise  at  once  also  to  legalize  plays  of  all 
lengths  in  all  music  halls.  Any  delay  in  doing  this 
merely  means  future  agitation,  future  law-breaking, 
progressive  lengthening  of  the  legal  sketch,  with  a 
sure  victory  in  the  end  to  the  music-hall  managers.  I 
counsel  the  music  hall  managers  to  agitate  till  it  is 
legal  to  perform  Hamlet  and  The  School  for  Scandal  in 
every  music-hall  in  the  kingdom.  If  fifty  full-length 
plays  were  produced  in  fifty  variety  theatres  next  week, 
how  many  prosecutions  would  take  place?    Not  one. 


332    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

It  is  true  that  full-length  plays  will  not  often  be  played 
in  music  halls,  but  there  should  be  the  right  to  play 
them  if  the  people  wish  to  have  them.  There  is  nothing 
criminal  in  a  man  seeing  Hamlet  and  smoking  a  pipe. 
Any  one  who  prevents  him  from  doing  so  if  he  wishes, 
merely  condemns  him  to  listen  to  Mr.  Slangwheezy, 
Mr.  Smallfilth,  and  Mr.  Bawlrot  in  place  of  Shakespeare. 
Already  some  playgoers  are  too  much  inclined  to  listen 
to  these  gentlemen.  Let  us  hope  that  one  of  the  results 
of  this  inquiry  will  be  to  free  large  numbers  of  them, 
and  especially  those  of  the  poorer  classes,  from  the 
necessity  of  listening  to  Mr.  Smallfilth,  and  watching 
Mr.  Leerit  while  they  are  smoking  their  evening  pipe. 
If,  however,  general  assent  cannot  at  present  be  gained 
for  the  legalization  of  full-length  plays  at  music  halls, 
let  the  play  or  sketch  of  one  hour  be  legalized  for  the 
time  being.  This  will,  however,  introduce  confusion, 
and  keep  in  disorder  a  matter  that  will  have  to  be  finally 
settled  in  a  very  short  time.  The  music-hall  managers 
have  only  to  arrange  amongst  themselves  gradually 
to  stretch  the  limit  of  the  sketch,  as  indeed  many  of 
them  are  now  doing,  and  in  a  short  time  full-length 
plays  will  be  as  allowable  in  music  halls  as  sketches  are 
now. 

Our  difficulties  now  seem  to  have  disappeared.  One 
enormous  difficulty  of  the  Censorship  has  been  removed. 
There  is  now  no  question  as  to  whether  sketches  shall 
be  licensed,  with  all  its  attendant  complications.  For 
if  music-hall  sketches  are  not  to  be  licensed,  what  neces- 
sity can  there  be  for  licensing  a  play  at  His  Majesty's  ? 
And  if  the  sketches  are  to  be  licensed,  then  why  not  the 
dances  and  all  the  other  items  of  the  entertainment, 
items  that  may  be  far  more  harmful  and  immoral  than 
the  sketch  ?  Either  way  there  is  a  dilemma,  and  no 
escape  from  it,  except  by  a  temporary  shift.  We  are 
now  clear  from  that  tangle,  for  all  plays,  entertainments, 
and  dances,  whether  at  theatres  or  music  halls,  will  be 
under  one  purview.     Of  course  all  will  depend  upon  the 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    333 

man  who  is  chosen  as  Inspector,  as  it  does  in  many 
other  equally  important  posts  in  public  life  where 
necessarily  everything  hangs  upon  the  character  and 
discretion  of  the  man  chosen.  It  will  be  a  thousand 
pities  if  we  do  not  capture  something  like  the  right  man 
at  the  start.  He  ought  not  to  be  costly.  The  English 
people  had  the  services  of  Matthew  Arnold  in  a  drudg- 
ing round  for,  I  believe,  less  than  a  thousand  a  year. 
And  how  splendidly  and  cheerfully  those  services  were 
performed ! 

I  hope  it  will  not  be  long  before  we  see  in  large 
letters  as  we  enter  any  theatre  or  music  hall  in  the 
kingdom  a  tasteful  playcard  announcing : 

The  Inspector-General  of  Theatres  and  Music  Halls 
is — 

Mr.  Wiseman  Sharp, 
On  the  top  floor, 

Broadview  House, 

Government  Walk, 
London. 

And  then  will  follow  the  grounds  on  which  he  can  be 
communicated  with,  or,  if  necessary,  summoned. 

We  are  partly  safeguarded  against  the  production 
of  any  very  disreputable  play  by  the  fact  that  it  costs 
some  amount  of  money  to  produce  it,  and  that  a  theatre 
has  to  be  obtained.  A  considerable  number  of  accom- 
plices have  to  be  engaged  in  the  matter.  With  regard 
to  the  plays  recently  vetoed  by  the  Censor  it  has 
generally  been  the  Stage  Society  that  has  backed  and 
produced  them. 

Now  it  cannot  be  supposed  that  the  Stage  Society, 
numbering  amongst  its  members  Lord  Gilford,  Lord 
Dudley,  Sir  Hugh  Bell,  Sir  Almeric  FitzRoy,  Mrs.  Alfred 
Lyttelton,  Mr.  Cecil  M.  Chapman,  Mr.  Sidney  Colvin, 
and  many  others  of  like  standing,  has  been  organized 
for  the  purpose  of  spending  a  considerable  amount  of 
money  to  corrupt  English  morals.     In  this  connection 


334    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A   NATIONAL  DRAMA 

a  loud  word  of  gratitude  and  recognition  is  due  to  Mr. 
Grein,  who  did  most  valuable  pioneer  work  of  this  kind 
before  the  Stage  Society  existed.  And  all  the  more 
honour  is  due  to  him  inasmuch  as,  I  believe,  he  was  not 
backed  and  financed  by  a  Society,  but  spent  and  lost 
a  great  of  his  own  money  in  the  labour.  This  should 
always  be  remembered,  and  we  may  here  put  up  a 
little  tablet  gratefully  recording  our  appreciation  of 
Mr.  Grein  and  the  Independent  Theatre. 

Some  such  body  as  the  Stage  Society  will  have  to 
be  responsible  for  the  future  production  of  those  plays 
which,  while  not  likely  to  be  suitable  to  the  general 
public,  do  yet  make  an  appeal  to  a  number  of  cultivated 
playgoers  of  good  standing  and  high  tastes.  The  Stage 
Society  is  already  well  organized  and  firmly  established 
with  an  honourable  record.  That  is  a  sufficient  guarantee 
that  nothing  very  disreputable  will  be  produced.  We 
could  not  leave  this  part  of  the  business  in  better  hands 
than  those  of  Mr.  Whelen  and  the  fifteen  hundred  mem- 
bers ofithe  Stage  Society,  with  dozens  of  men  like  those 
I  have  named  amongst  them. 

As  for  the  general  improvement  in  our  theatre-going 
tastes  and  manners,  we  must  look  forward  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  National  Theatre,  which  we  hope  will  raise 
our  standards  all  round. 

To  conclude.  I  claim  that  I  have  established : 
(i)  That  the  present,  and  any  proposed,  form  of 
Censorship  is  not  only  futile,  vexatious,  ob- 
structive, and  obsolete;  but  that  it  actually 
tends  to  promote  indecency  and  immorality, 
inasmuch  as  it  throws  the  Government  cloak 
over  certain  of  their  most  insidious  forms 
which  can  never  be  brought  to  the  view  or 
knowledge  of  any  Censor. 
(2)  That  this  is  primarily  a  question  for  playgoers 
to  settle,  and  that  they  have  not  been  heard 
before  your  Committee.  That  whatever  tem- 
porary shifts    or    expedients    may    now  be 


CENSORSHIP  MUDDLE  AND  A  WAY  OUT    335 

adopted,  it  must  finally  be  settled  in  accord 
with  the  interests,  wishes,  and  convenience 
of  playgoers ;  and  not  in  accord  with  the 
exigencies  and  vested  interests  of  those 
who  wish  to  shelter  under  the  government 
cloak. 

(3)  That  it  is  fundamentally  a  religious  question, 

seeing  that  the  Censorship  actually  protects 
certain  rank  forms  of  indecency.  That  minis- 
ters and  religious  people  may  be  asked  to  take 
it  up,  and  make  a  vigorous  and  continued 
inquiry  on  the  grounds  I  have  indicated  in 
the  previous  pages. 

(4)  That  the  appointment  of  an  Inspector-General, 

such  as  I  have  suggested,  gives  the  public 
security  where  they  have  a  right  to  ask  for 
security,  and  where  it  can  be  ensured  them, 
that  is,  in  matters  of  indecency ;  while  it  takes 
from  them  the  false  and  wrong  security  that 
the  Censorship  pretends  to  give  them  ;  that  is, 
in  matters  of  morality,  where  they  cannot  be 
really  protected,  and  where  it  is  of  the  highest 
importance   that   they  should  protect  them- 
selves.     That  the   appointment  of  such   an 
Inspector-General   is   not   at   all   revolution- 
ary, but  is  wholly  on  the  side  of  law,  order, 
decency,  and  religion. 
I  have   trespassed   too   long  on  your  patience  and 
consideration.     I  have  been  obliged  to  treat  the  matter 
at  what  must  seem  to  be  quite  unnecessary  length  to 
you  and  your  Committee,  who  have  already,  perhaps, 
heard  too  much  of  it.     But  I  was  most  anxious  not  to 
lose  a  point  that  might  convince  you,  and  I  was  also 
most  anxious  to  convince  that  wider  circle  who  arc  in- 
terested in  the  matter ;  and  who  could  not  judge  it  unless 
they  had  before  them  a  complete  summary  of  all  the 
leading  facts  and  issues.     If  I  have  been  betrayed  into 
using  expressions  of  too  great  warmth  and  vehemence, 


336    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A   NATIONAL   DRAMA 

I  hope  you  will  put  them  aside,  and  not  let  my  bad 
advocacy  prejudice  my  good  cause. 

With  all  submission,  sir,  to  your  better  judgment, 
and  the  judgment  of  your  Committee, 
I  am, 
Your  obedient  servant, 

HENRY  ARTHUR  JONES. 


XX 

AFTER   THE   CENSORSHIP   COMMITTEE 

November,  1912. 

Mr.  Max  Reinhardt's  latest  production  has  been 
refused  a  licence  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  Office ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  public  is  not  to  be  allowed  the  chance 
of  judging  whether  Mr.  Max  Reinhardt  has  deliberately 
risked  his  high  reputation  by  providing  an  indecent 
spectacle. 

Undoubtedly  some  of  the  dancing  seen  on  the 
English  stage  may  be  challenged  on  the  ground  of 
indecency.  The  question  of  the  indecency  of  a 
spectacle  is  one  that  is  tolerably  easy  to  settle,  and 
is  altogether  apart  from  the  very  difficult  question  of 
the  intrinsic  morality  and  tendency  of  a  play.  The 
distinction  has  been  exhaustively  pointed  out  in  the 
previous  paper.  Very  loud  complaints  have  recently 
been  heard  of  the  indecency  of  the  dancing  at  some 
fashionable  West  End  Theatres.  Their  prevalence 
has  proved  the  incapacity  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
office  when  it  does  not  interfere.  It  may  be  that  the 
refusal  of  the  licence  to  Mr.  Max  Reinhardt's  pro- 
duction will  equally  prove  the  incapacity  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  office  when  it  does  interfere. 

Meantime,  by  way  of  getting  a  fair  idea  of  the  com- 
petency of  the  Censorship  to  judge  any  question  of 
indecency  or  immorality,  let  us  rapidly  glance  at  what 
has  happened  since  the  sittings  of  the  Censorship 
Committee  in  the  autumn  of  1909.    It  will  be  remembered 

337  '^ 


338    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

that  the  Report  of  the  committee]  to  Parliament 
advised  that  the  office  in  its  present  form  should  be 
abolished. 

However,  the  Report  has  been  shelved  and  its  very 
strong  recommendations  have  been  unheeded.  Mean- 
time, the  Lord  Chamberlain's  office  has  managed  to  hold 
on  to  its  arbitrary  and  irresponsible  powers,  and  indeed 
to  augment  them. 

The  Censorship  in  the  opinion  of  many  of  our  West 
End  Managers  is  a  benevolent  institution  which  prevents 
them  from  producing  immoral  plays.  Whether  they 
distrust  their  judgment,  or  whether  they  suspect  their 
inclinations,  it  is  for  them  to  say. 

The  Censorship  is  in  the  opinion  of  many  playgoers 
a  wise  benevolent  institution  which  prevents  them  from 
seeing  immoral  plays.  Again,  whether  they  distrust 
their  judgment  or  whether  they  suspect  their  inclina- 
tions, it  is  for  them  to  say. 

But  clearly  it  is  of  the  first  importance  to  the 
Censorship  to  prove  by  its  actions  that  it  is  this  wise 
benevolent  institution ;  that  it  does  keep  in  check  this 
alleged  tendency  of  West  End  managers  to  produce 
immoral  plays,  and  of  playgoers  to  visit  them.  But, 
as  the  evidence  tendered  to  the  Censorship  Com- 
mittee amply  showed,  the  Censorship  is  very  far  from 
being  this  wise  benevolent  institution.  The  least  then 
that  it  can  do  is  to  preserve  some  little  outward  shov/ 
or  pose  of  being  wise  and  benevolent,  so  as  to  give 
managers  and  playgoers  an  excuse  for  their  pious 
confidence. 

Well,  an  outcry  is  raised  against  the  Censorship ;  a 
parliamentary  committee  is  appointed;  it  is  proved  up 
to  the  hilt  that  the  Censorship  must  at  the  best  be  a 
quite  insufficient  and  ineffective  guardian  of  morality  in 
the  theatre ;  that  under  the  present  system  it  has  been 
indirectly  a  protector  of  some  of  the  most  insidious 
forms  of  immorality ;  that  it  is  often  a  stupid  and 
malignant  enemy  to  the  highest  forms  of  drama;  that 


AFTER   THE   CENSORSHIP   COMMITTEE    339 

its  mistakes  and  misjudgments  have  turned  the  whole 
affair  into  a  burlesque.  The  committee  recommend 
such  radical  changes  as  amount  to  an  abolition  of  the 
office  in  its  present  form. 

How  does  this  Censorship  meet  this  attack  ?  Having 
been  called  to  account  as  the  appointed  guardian  of 
morality  in  the  theatre,  what  reply  does  the  Censorship 
make? 

On  the  stage  we  often  meet  with  a  baffling  inadequacy 
and  confusion  of  motive.  But  surely  not  even  one  of 
our  recent  masterpieces  of  advanced  modern  drama  has 
been  so  strangely  "motived,"  or  so  disdainful  of  con- 
sistent sequence,  as  the  actions  and  decrees  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  office  following  on  the  report  of  the 
Censorship  Committee. 

One  of  the  first  plays  that  came  up  for  judgment  was 
Oscar  Wilde's  Salome  with  music  by  Strauss. 

Now  it  has  been  constantly  and  abundantly  shown 
that  the  licensing  of  a  play  does  not  depend  upon  its 
morality  or  immorality,  but  upon  the  question  whether 
or  not  any  considerable  and  influential  body  of  play- 
goers want  to  see  it.  A  moment's  reflection  on  the 
matter  will  convince  the  Censorship  that  this  is  the 
invariable  rule  which  guides  its  final  decisions. 

Do  a  small  number  of  intellectual  playgoers  wish  to 
see  Sophocles,  Shelley,  Ibsen,  Maeterlinck?  They  can 
be  safely  defied.     The  licence  may  be  refused. 

Do  a  large  number  of  careless  and  thoughtless  amuse- 
ment-seekers wish  to  see  some  farrago  of  nasty  non- 
sense ?  They  cannot  be  defied.  The  licence  must  be 
given  at  once. 

It  might  have  been  foreseen  that  Salome  would 
have  to  be  licensed  sooner  or  later,  because  like  Samson 
and  Delilah  there  was  a  sufficient  number  of  playgoers 
who  wanted  to  see  it.  But  the  Censorship,  always  on 
the  look-out  for  a  chance  to  stultify  itself,  refused  the 
licence,  only  to  grant  it  in  a  few  months.  If  it  was 
immoral  in  191 1,  how  could  it  become  moral  in  1912? 


340     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

And  why  should  managers  and  playgoers  be  meantime 
put  to  annoyance  and  disappointment?  But  Salome 
also  gave  the  Censorship  a  further  chance  to  show  the 
hollowness  and  futility  of  its  reasons  for  refusing 
licences. 

We  have  a  favourite  way  on  our  English  stage  of 
making  morality  ridiculous,  by  dodging  the  risky  scenes 
of  a  broad  French  farce  so  that  they  grin  and  wriggle  all 
the  more  hideously  through  their  transparent  English 
draperies.  Apparently  it  occurred  to  the  Censorship 
that  these  dear  and  familiar  subterfuges  might  be 
practised  on  religion.  There  may  have  been  plausible 
reasons  for  not  licensing  Salome  at  all.  But,  having 
licensed  the  play,  what  reason  could  there  be  for  de- 
claring that  John  the  Baptist  was  not  John  the 
Baptist,  when  every  member  in  the  audience  knew  very 
well  that  he  was  John  the  Baptist ;  and  moreover  was 
coming  to  the  theatre  trebly  impressed  with  the  fact  that 
he  really  was  John  the  Baptist,  through  having  read 
paragraphs  in  all  the  papers  announcing  the  Censor's 
decision  that  although  he  really  was  John  the  Baptist, 
he  mustn't  say  he  was  John  the  Baptist,  but  must  go 
about  the  stage  pretending  to  be  some  nondescript  and 
anonymous  prophet. 

Does  the  Censorship  think  that  religion  is  really 
served  by  these  subterfuges,  any  more  than  morality  is 
served  by  the  subterfuges  that  change  a  piece  of  unveiled 
French  indecency  into  a  piece  of  half-veiled  English 
indecency? 

Again,  what  reason  was  there  for  keeping  John  the 
Baptist's  head  out  of  the  charger  ?  Except,  indeed,  to 
indicate  a  mental  diathesis  on  the  level  of  Mr.  Dick 
when  dealing  with  troublesome  persons  who  have  had 
their  heads  chopped  off,  and  yet  will  not  cease  from 
annoyance  ? 

There  was  serious  comedy  in  Salome  and  the 
Censorship;  but  in  the  season  that  followed  outrageous 
farce   reigned   supreme.      During   this    period    it    was 


AFTER  THE   CENSORSHIP    COMMITTEE    341 

difficult  to  fathom  the  intentions  of  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain's office  ;  but  so  far  as  motives  may  be  judged  from 
actions,  there  was  an  attempt  to  establish  a  burlesque 
system  of  historical  morality  in  the  person  of  George  the 
Fourth,  and  a  burlesque  system  of  modern  morality  in  the 
person  of  "  Dear  Old  Charlie."  And  historical  morality, 
like  all  other  kinds  of  morality,  having  flatly  refused  to 
be  established  by  the  methods  of  the  Censorship,  the 
Lord  Chamberlain's  office  "  scratched  Morality "  and 
declared  to  win  with  another  horse.  Disregarding  the 
wise  advice  of  the  shrewd  old  judge — "  Never  give  a 
reason  for  your  verdict  " — the  Censorship  superfluously 
issued  a  note  explaining  that  its  real  reason  for  vetoing 
Mr.  Housman's  play  oi  Pains  mid  Penalties  was  "be- 
cause it  dealt  with  a  sad  historical  episode  in  the  life 
of  an  unhappy  lady  "  (exact  quotation). 

We  all  remember  Mark  Twain's  uncontrollable  grief 
when  he  found  himself  at  the  grave  of  so  near  and  dear 
a  relative  as  Adam.  The  Censor's  solicitude  for  the 
memory  of  Queen  Caroline  offers  an  even  more  touching 
instance  of  exalted,  if  unnecessary,  devotion  and  sorrow. 
It  was,  however,  a  little  startling  to  find  that  the  Censor, 
by  the  wording  of  the  letter  in  which  his  exalted  but 
somewhat  belated  devotion  and  sorrow  were  communi- 
cated to  the  British  public,  seems  to  imply  that  the  stern 
duty  of  censoring  immoral  plays  incidentally  covers  and 
includes  the  more  gallant  and  pleasing  occupation  of 
defending  "unhappy  ladies."  At  first  sight  this  duty 
would  appear  to  belong  rather  to  another  branch  of  the 
Lord  Chamberlain's  office,  where  it  is  understood  that 
difficulties  of  precedence  and  presentation  are  often  the 
cause  of  much  unhappiness  to  ladies.  But  a  more  care- 
ful consideration  of  the  point,  leads  rather  to  the  opinion 
that  the  Censorship,  finding  itself  supported  in  its  claims 
to  absolute  sovereignty  over  the  English  drama,  is  about 
to  advance  a  further  claim  over  a  wider,  and  even  yet 
more  unmanageable  domain,  to  enlarge  its  premises — as 
it   were   to   open   a   new   department   for  dealing  in  a 


342    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

different  class  and  a  larger  assortment  of  human 
troubles. 

One  would  have  thought  that  the  Censorship  had 
already  found  sufficient  difficulty  in  carrying  on  its  old- 
established  business,  especially  as  it  is  on  the  verge  of 
bankruptcy.  And  at  such  a  juncture  to  undertake  new 
business  of  so  risky  and  unremunerative  a  nature  as  that 
of  defending  "  unhappy  ladies "  would  seem  to  be  a 
most  rash  and  desperate  venture. 

However,  defending  "  unhappy  ladies,"  though  a 
dangerous  and  unprofitable,  is  yet  a  fascinating  and 
dashing  humanitarian  pursuit.  No  wonder  the  Censor- 
ship jumped  at  such  a  gay  diversion  from  its  ordinary 
routine.  One  can  imagine  the  entire  personnel  of  the 
office  with  radiant  faces  and  brightened  eyes,  briskly 
rubbing  their  hands,  and  exclaiming  ;  "  Ah  !  well  now  ! 
This  is  something  like  business !  Here's  a  job  at  last 
that's  worth  doing!  Let's  all  take  a  turn  at  this,  and 
drop  the  other  silly  game  !  " 

And  seeing  that  defending  "  unhappy  ladies  "  is  likely 
to  consume  a  vast  amount  of  time  and  energy,  it  may 
serve  to  draw  off  the  activities  that  have  hitherto  been 
employed  in  censoring  Sophocles,  Shelley,  Ibsen,  and 
Maeterlinck.  And  if  it  has  really  been  decided  to  en- 
large the  Censor's  powers  so  far  as  to  give  him  the  same 
plenary  and  irresponsible  jurisdiction  over  "unhappy 
ladies "  and  their  would-be  assailants,  that  he  now 
exercises  over  plays,  the  arrangement  shall  have  my 
hearty  support. 

And  to  show  that  I  am  in  earnest  I  may  mention 
that  I  happen  to  be  acquainted  with  no  less  than  five 
"  unhappy  ladies  "  whom  I  should  have  been  very  much 
tempted  to  defend  on  my  own  account,  had  not  my 
natural  timidity  held  me  back.  Moreover,  they  are 
ladies  whose  unhappiness  is  of  that  peculiar  nature 
which  would  render  them  especially  suitable  for  the 
tender  care  and  attentions  of  the  Censor.  And  in 
this  way  some  sort  of  relation  might  be  easily  argued 


AFTER  THE  CENSORSHIP   COMMITTEE    343 

between  the  function  of  licensing  plays  and  the  function 
of  defending  "unhappy  ladies"  ;  which  two  apparently 
incongruous  functions  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  office 
seems  to  claim  as  concurrent  or  inter-changeable  duties 
of  its  own. 

And  by  way  of  easing  our  present  difficulties,  I 
undertake  to  forward  the  addresses  of  these  five  "  un- 
happy ladies  "  by  the  first  post,  in  return  for  the  with- 
drawal of  the  ban  from  any  proscribed  play  of  Ibsen 
or  Maeterlinck.  If  my  very  reasonable  offer  is  refused, 
I  can  only  echo  the  massive  phrase  of  Peggotty,  and 
say,  "  I'm  gormed ! "  Indeed  at  every  fresh  step  the 
Censorship  takes,  what  can  one  do  except  ejaculate, 
"  I'm  gormed !  "  and  yet  again  in  a  more  solemn  whisper, 
"I'm  gormed !" 

The  drolleries  of  George  the  Fourth  and  the 
"  unhappy  ladies "  being  for  the  time  exhausted,  the 
next  thing  for  the  Censorship  to  do  was  to  see  what 
further  fun  could  be  got  out  of  the  situation.  The 
difficulty  was  to  prevent  an  anticlimax.  This  was 
successfully  avoided  by  turning  the  Censorship  into  a 
limited  liability  company.  Perhaps  one  should  rather 
say  a  hierarchy,  with  one  big  or  presumably  controlling 
Censor,  and  round  him  a  group  of  junior  Censors, 
satellites,  henchmen,  acolytes  —  one  scarcely  knows 
what  to  name  them ;  so  veiled  is  the  nature  of  their 
employment,  and  so  doubtful  the  extent  of  their  powers. 
They  are  called,  perhaps  without  intentional  irony, 
"The  Advisory  Committee."  But  it  seems  cruel  and 
satirical  to  give  a  body  of  well-meaning  gentlemen  this 
derisive  title  when  advice  is  of  all  things  the  most 
useless  and  unnecessary  to  off'er  the  Censor.  In  the 
matter  of  the  intrinsic  morality  of  a  play,  the  advice, 
that  is  to  say  the  opinion,  of  any  two,  or  twenty,  or 
two  hundred  persons  is  likely  to  vary  all  round  the 
circle,  and  one  opinion  is  as  likely  as  another  to  be 
sustained  and  justified  by  the  ultimate  verdict  of  the 
public.     The  only  Advisory  Committee  that  can  be  of 


344    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

any  service  to  the  Censor,  because  the  only  one  that 
has  final  weight  and  authority,  is  that  of  the  playgoing 
public.  We  shall  see  a  little  later  on,  however,  that 
useless  as  this  committee  may  be  to  the  Censor  in  the 
matter  of  advice,  they  may  be  of  infinite  service  in 
helping  him  to  dodge  any  personal  responsibility  and 
in  offering  everybody  in  the  office  a  chance  to  escape 
from  any  challenge  of  public  opinion. 

Meantime  let  us  take  them  at  their  face  value,  and 
call  them  "  Honorary  Tasters  of  Morality  to  British 
Playgoers."  What  power  any  member  has  to  enforce 
his  judgment,  if  it  differs  from  his  fellows,  we  do  not 
know.  And  if  opinion  never  differs,  what  is  the  use  of 
a  committee  ?  What  means  the  hierarchy  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain,  Censor,  junior  Censor,  and  Advisory 
Committee  have  of  coming  to  any  general  decision 
in  a  critical  case,  beyond  the  impartial  and  conclusive 
one  of  tossing  up,  we  do  not  know.  They  are  indeed 
men  who  would  command  our  vast  respect  in  any  other 
employment — say  in  solving  that  other  still  vexed 
problem  of  how  many  angels  can  dance  on  the  point 
of  a  needle. 

It  was  a  little  puzzling  to  find  Sir  Edward  Carson 
among  the  Honorary  Tasters  of  Morality.  Sir  Edward 
is  at  once  a  keen  and  generous  man,  lavish  of  his  services 
in  tangled  and  baffling  causes.  Perhaps  his  easy  triumphs 
in  his  own  profession  lured  him  to  try  his  skill  in  some- 
thing more  adventurous.  But  experience  in  the  habitu- 
ally plain  and  straightforward  paths  of  the  law  is  no 
guide  in  threading  the  giddy  mazes  of  the  Censorship. 
The  code  of  English  law  is  a  child's  primer  compared 
with  the  code  of  English  morality  as  interpreted  by  the 
Censorship.  Doubtless  it  was  the  discovery  of  this 
fact  that  moved  Sir  Edward  to  engage  his  energies  in 
another  cause.  At  any  rate,  he  may  be  congratulated 
on  being,  at  the  moment  of  writing,  less  dubiously  and 
more  hopefully  employed  in  Ulster,  upon  business 
where  friction  is  less  certain  to  arise. 


AFTER  THE   CENSORSHIP   COMMITTEE     345 

But  in  view  of  tlie  continuance  of  tlie  present 
Advisory  Committee,  or  the  possible  formation  of  any 
similar  Committee  in  future,  it  may  be  well  to  look  a 
little  closely  into  its  constitution. 

During  the  sittings  of  the  Censorship  Committee  it 
was  humorouslyproposed  tosubmit  the  ultimate  licensing 
of  a  play  to  arbitration.  In  the  preceding  paper  I  have 
sketched  the  probable  result  of  carrying  such  a  proposal 
into  effect.  In  place  of  having  one  unhappy  gentleman 
engaged  in  the  hopeless  task  of  trying  to  reconcile  his 
own  notions  about  the  intrinsic  morality  of  a  play  and 
of  its  effect  upon  the  public,  with  the  notions  of  every- 
body else — in  place  of  one  such  bewildered  creature 
we  should  have  had  three  or  four.  Lovers  of  English 
comedy  will  doubtless  blame  me  for  doing  my  best  to 
deprive  them  of  such  a  spectacle. 

In  reconstituting  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  office  it 
was  doubtless  foreseen  that  arbitration  might  lead  to 
further  disputes  and  scandals.  To  avoid  these  why  not 
choose  a  committee,  none  of  whose  members  could  be 
very  much  concerned  to  give  freedom  and  influence  to 
the  drama,  and  all  of  whose  members  would  be  in 
sympathy  with  the  Censorship? 

For  the  first  thing  that  strikes  us  is  that  any 
Advisory  Committee  must  necessarily  be  a  sympathetic 
and  partisan  body. 

The  Lord  Chamberlain  can  only  choose  advisers 
from  his  sympathizers  and  colleagues.  The  very  large, 
influential,  and  expert  body  of  Englishmen  of  all  profes- 
sions who  are  hostile  to  the  Censorship  are  debarred  from 
representation  on  the  committee.  For  the  only  possible 
advice  they  can  offer  the  Censor  is  to  throw  up  the 
whole  business  as  quickly  as  possible.  Let  us  recall 
that  in  the  list  of  Englishmen  hostile  to  Censorship  is 
to  be  found,  with  scarcely  a  notable  exception,  the  name 
of  every  famous  and  honoured  living  English  writer. 

Surely  that  fact  ought  to  carry  immense  weight  with 
those  who  have  not  the  time  to  follow  the  intricacies  of 


346     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

this  question,  and  to  judge  it  on  its  merits.  Surely  no 
class  of  men  is  better  able  to  judge  whether  we  should 
have  a  Censor  or  not  than  English  men  of  letters  ;  for 
as  a  body  they  are  not  open  to  any  charge  of  partisan- 
ship. Surely  no  class  is  so  well  able  to  advise  the 
Censor  on  the  intrinsic  morality  of  what,  when  it  is 
offered  to  his  judgment,  is  not  a  play,  but  a  piece  of 
writing.  Yet  English  men  of  letters  are  necessarily  shut 
out  from  his  Advisory  Committee,  for  they  frankly  say 
to  him,  "  We  who  from  our  training  and  knowledge  are 
best  able  to  advise  you,  decline  to  do  so,  because  as  all 
past  experience  teaches,  and  as  Milton  showed  nearly 
three  hundred  years  ago,  all  arbitrary  individual  judg- 
ments are  liable  to  be  mistaken,  and  in  the  end  to 
damage  the  cause  of  morality  rather  than  to  guard  it. 
It  is  a  matter  that  must  be  left  to  the  public."  That 
is  what  English  literature  is  constantly  saying  to  the 
Censor.     Is  it  to  carry  no  weight? 

And  not  only  are  Englishmen  of  letters  shut  out 
from  the  Advisory  Committee,  but  so  also  are  those 
influential  men  in  other  professions  who  are  associated 
in  condemnation  of  the  Censorship.  Therefore,  the 
decisions  of  the  present  or  of  any  future  Advisory  Com- 
mittee can  have  no  weight ;  because  they  are  necessarilj' 
the  views  of  men  virtually  pledged  to  keep  the  Censor- 
ship going. 

It  will  be  pointed  out  that  on  the  Advisory  Com- 
mittee are  to  be  found  the  names  of  Sir  Squire  Bancroft 
and  Sir  John  Hare,  men  whose  long  and  honourable 
careers  as  managers  may  be  supposed  to  give  them  a 
voice  in  the  matter.  It  must  be  replied  that  though 
two  managers  are  to  be  found  on  the  committee,  there 
is  not  a  single  dramatic  author. 

Was  a  place  on  the  Advisory  Committee  offered  to 
any  dramatic  author  ?  If  it  were  not,  that  is  a  very 
severe  comment  on  the  way  the  committee  was  formed. 
Was  a  place  offered  and  refused  ?  That  is  an  equally 
severe  comment. 


AFTER  THE  CENSORSHIP    COMMITTEE     347 

Let  us  inquire  what  are  the  respective  claims  of  a 
theatrical  manager  and  a  dramatist  to  appear  in  this 
matter;  from  what  point  of  view  each  of  them  is  likely 
to  approach  its  consideration  ;  and  what  is  therefore 
likely  to  be  the  comparative  value  of  their  respective 
opinions. 

What  is  the  point  at  issue  ?  What  is  the  desired  and 
desirable  goal  which  we  are  labouring  to  attain  ?  It  is 
this.  How  can  we  amidst  this  great  British  public, 
containing  large  and  influential  masses  still  moved  by 
antiquated  prejudices  against  the  drama,  and  mainly 
ignorant  of  everything  belonging  to  it ;  containing  other 
large  and  half-educated  masses  moved  only  by  a  desire 
for  cheap  sensational,  sentimental,  or  sensual  entertain- 
ment; containing  a  great  majority  of  all  classes  resolved 
to  maintain  only  an  outward  and  superficial  show  of  con- 
venient morality;  beset  as  we  are  by  a  multitude  of 
conflicting  personal  aims  and  views  and  notions — how 
can  we,  in  such  encompassing  and  with  only  such 
material  to  work  upon,  stir  and  give  free  play  to  those 
latent  and  gathering  forces  which  make  for  an  intellectual 
national  drama,  a  drama  whose  morality  shall  be  intrinsic, 
penetrating,  compulsive,  and  not  merely  conventional, 
cynical,  inoperative  ?    That  is  the  task  before  us. 

What  is  the  best  calculated  to  develop  and  establish 
such  a  drama?  What  will  best  tend  to  promote  its 
permanent  interests  ?  That  is  the  question  as  it  presents 
itself  to  the  dramatist. 

Now  the  London  manager  with  a  theatre  costing 
him  a  thousand  or  twelve  hundred  pounds  a  week  to 
keep  going  can  scarcely  be  expected  to  approach  the 
matter  from  that  standpoint.  I  do  not  say  that  we  have 
not  managers  who  may  not  allow  such  considerations 
to  have  weight  with  them.  But  such  considerations 
are  not,  and  cannot  be,  primary  and  habitual  with  a 
theatrical  manager.  His  first  cry  will  be  for  a  Censor, 
who  will  fix  a  Court  or  Government  stamp  on  what 
he    produces,   and   warrant    the   entertainment   to   the 


348     FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

public.  This  Court  or  Government  stamp  is  very 
valuable  to  the  manager,  for  it  assures  the  public  of 
the  sound  morality  of  the  entertainment  offered  at  his 
theatre,  and  tends  to  protect  him  from  any  freakish 
panic.  And  the  public  is  lulled  into  a  vicious  security 
and  is  saved  the  trouble  of  looking  into  the  matter  for 
themselves — with  what  damaging  results  to  morality 
I  have  already  shown  in  my  letter  to  Mr.  Herbert 
Samuel  on  the  Censorship  Muddle. 

It  is  therefore  natural  that  theatrical  managers 
should  cling  to  the  Censorship. 

And  how  far  this  motive  guides  them  may  be  seen 
by  what  happened  upon  the  issue  of  the  Report  of  the 
Censorship  Committee.  Overwhelming  evidence  had 
been  brought  of  the  mischievous  and  capricious  in- 
eptitude of  the  office;  the  Parliamentary  Committee 
had  thoroughly  examined  the  matter  and  had  pronounced 
for  its  virtual  suppression. 

What  was  the  first  action  of  our  leading  managers  ? 
They  issued  a  joint  letter,  expressing  their  continued 
faith  in  the  Censorship  and  calling  for  its  retention  with 
the  present  arbitrary  powers.  Nor  apparently  has  their 
confidence  been  shaken  by  the  astounding  pranks  and 
blunders  which  I  have  glanced  at  above. 

Sir  Herbert  Tree  is  of  opinion  that  the  present 
manager  of  His  Majesty's  Theatre  is  not  a  fit  person 
to  decide  finally  what  plays  shall  be  there  offered  to 
the  public.  I  have  vainly  tried  to  persuade  him  other- 
wise. Sir  Herbert  may  be  right  in  his  opinion.  But 
Sir  Herbert  must  surely  allow  that  he  is  likely  to  be 
a  better  judge  of  an  immoral  play  than  the  Censors 
who  have  vetoed  (E  dip  us  and  Mo  nna  Vanna,2Lnd  licensed 
countless  indecent  French  farces. 

The  present  attitude  of  West  End  Managers  estab- 
lishes the  fact  that  they  very  naturally  approach  the 
question  of  the  Censorship  from  the  point  of  view  of 
theatrical  expediencies  and  exigencies,  and  not  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  interests  of  the  drama.     This  clash 


AFTER  THE   CENSORSHIP    COMMITTEE    349 

of  interests  and  consequent  divergence  of  opinion  is 
clearly  shown  in  reading  the  list  of  those  who  are 
favourable  and  those  who  are  hostile  to  the  Censorship. 
In  one  list  are  to  be  found  the  names  of  nearly  all  our 
managers ;  in  the  other  the  names  of  nearly  all  English 
playwrights  with  claims  to  serious  consideration.  The 
truth  is  that  the  interests  and  aims  of  the  English  drama 
and  the  interests  and  aims  of  the  English  theatre,  are 
in  many  ways  divergent  and  sometimes  diametrically 
opposed.  At  first  sight  the  fact  that  our  leading 
managers  are  in  favour  of  the  Censorship  would 
naturally  carry  weight  with  the  public.  But  when 
the  reasons  which  move  them  to  their  advocacy  are 
balanced  against  the  reasons  which  move  men  of  letters 
and  dramatists  to  take  the  opposing  side,  it  will  be 
found  that  the  real  issue  is  whether  or  not  the  permanent 
interests  of  English  drama  and  literature  shall  be 
sacrificed  to  the  temporary  interests  and  exigencies  of 
the  English  theatre.  And  where  the  interests  of  the 
drama  and  literature  are  in  conflict  with  the  interests  of 
the  theatre  we  may  naturally  expect  the  manager  to 
uphold  the  interests  of  the  theatre. 

But  his  verdict  must  necessarily  be  a  partisan  one  ; 
and  this  should  be  borne  in  mind  in  estimating  the  value 
of  the  testimony  of  our  leading  managers  to  the 
beneficence  of  the  Censorship. 

It  may  be  urged  that  dramatists  are  equally  inclined 
to  take  a  partisan  view.  But  the  dramatist  has  no 
immediate  pecuniary  benefit  to  gain  by  suppressing  the 
Censor ;  he  is  fighting  for  freedom  to  practice  his  pro- 
fession or  business  under  the  same  conditions  that 
every  other  profession  or  business  is  practised  in  this 
country ;  that  is  by  the  sanction  and  approval  of  the 
public,  and  not  by  the  permission  of  a  Court  of^cial  with 
necessarily  confused  ideas  and  irresponsible  authority. 
This  is  surely  a  matter  which  concerns  the  dramatist 
very  vitally  and  directly  ;  while  it  concerns  the  theatrical 
manager  only  secondarily  and    incidentally.    ^The   fact 


350     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

then  that  many  of  our  oldest  London  managers  support 
the  Censorship,  which  at  first  sight  seems  so  weighty 
an  argument  for  its  retention,  is  thus  seen  to  be  of  little 
account  when  placed  in  the  scale  against  the  practically 
unanimous  verdict  of  English  dramatists  and  men  of 
letters. 

I  cannot  but  think  that  the  views  of  the  older 
managers  are  mistaken  and  shortsighted ;  and  that  the 
more  broad-minded  of  them  will  ultimately  look  at  the 
matter  from  the  standpoint  of  the  permanent  interests 
of  the  drama,  and  not  exclusively  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  policy  of  the  theatre. 

In  any  case  the  advent  of  three  or  four  additional 
minor  Censors  can  only  three  or  four  times  multiply 
the  confusions  and  absurdities  of  the  office.  The  reasons 
I  have  given  at  great  length  in  "  The  Censorship 
Muddle"  against  the  employment  of  arbitrators  are 
largely  applicable  to  the  employment  of  minor  Censors, 
or  of  any  kind  of  honorary  tasters. 

Having  thus  seen  that  an  Advisory  Committee  can 
be  of  use  only  to  give  the  public  an  impression  that  the 
Censorship  is  a  beneficent  institution  looking  after  their 
morality,  let  us  see  how  the  establishment  of  this  com- 
mittee is  working  in  actual  practice. 

A  few  months  ago  an  unlicensed  play  was  performed 
in  public  before  a  nonpaying  audience,  was  favourably 
received  by  that  audience,  and  was  favourably  noticed 
by  leading  London  and  provincial  papers.  The  author 
sent  it  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  office,  to  get  it  duly 
licensed  for  performance  at  a  regular  theatre  before 
a  paying  audience,  at  the  same  time  enclosing  the  fee 
for  reading. 

The  Lord  Chamberlain's  office  accepted  the  fee,  and 
said  that  the  licence,  if  granted,  should  be  forwarded  to 
the  manager  of  the  theatre  where  it  had  been  arranged 
that  the  play  should  be  performed.  The  author  was 
notified  from  the  theatre  that  the  licence  had  been 
refused,   and   that   the   play   could   not   be   performed. 


AFTER  THE   CENSORSHIP   COMMITTEE    351 

Paragraphs  in  the  London  papers  announced  that  the 
licence  had  been  refused.  On  the  following  day  the 
Lord  Chamberlain's  office  denied  in  the  papers  that 
the  licence  had  been  refused,  and  said  that  it  had  been 
informed  by  the  manager  of  the  theatre  that  the  play 
had  been  withdrawn,  "  There  was  no  question  of 
licensing  it,  or  not  licensing  it.  We  have  not  even 
read  it,"  said  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  office.  "No 
licence  has  been  refused  for  this  play." 

The  author  applied  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  office 
for  an  explanation  of  the  discrepancy,  and  was  written 
by  one  of  the  Censors  that  "  presumably  "  the  play  had 
gone  before  the  Advisory  Board,  that  "presumably"  they 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  inexpedient 
to  licence  the  play  for  public  performance  (it  had  already 
been  performed  in  public),  and  that  "  presumably  "  they 
had  advised  the  Lord  Chamberlain  accordingly.  From 
this  astonishing  communication  it  would  appear  that 
the  Lord  Chamberlain  and  his  appointed  Censors  have 
now  shifted  their  entire  authority  and  responsibility 
to  the  Advisory  Committee,  and  frankly  declare  that 
they  have  washed  their  hands  of  the  whole  business ; 
for  they  own  they  do  not  even  know  exactly  what 
happens  to  a  play  when  it  is  sent  in  to  them  for 
licence ;  but  that  they  can  only  presume  what  has 
become  of  it. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  they  will  pocket  the 
guinea,  and  the  author  may  be  left  to  guess  whether 
or  not  his  play  is  licensed. 

It  is  one  of  the  hundred  absurdities  of  the  Censor- 
ship, that  the  Lord  Chamberlain  being  appointed  to 
stop  the  performance  of  any  play  that  he  may  con- 
sider objectionable,  has  no  power  whatever  to  do  so. 
Any  society  of  playgoers  can  produce  any  play, 
provided  only  that  they  do  not  take  money  for  the 
performance.  If  no  society  is  ready  to  undertake  the 
production,  a  society  can  be  formed  with  a  small 
subscription   to  cover  the   expenses    of   performance, 


352     FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

and  the  Lord  Chamberlain  and  all  his  hierarchy  can 
be  ignored  or  defied.  The  Lord  Chamberlain  can, 
however,  withdraw  the  licence  of  the  theatre  producing 
such  a  play.  The  Lord  Chamberlain's  office  is  there- 
fore in  a  position  to  threaten  a  manager,  and  without 
actually  refusing  to  licence  a  play,  is  able  to  terrorize 
him  from  producing  it,  and  to  escape  responsibility. 

Now  it  is  one  of  the  minor  hardships  of  the  Censor's 
lot  that  at  every  step  he  takes  he  is  compelled  to  prove 
that  he  and  his  office  are  either  superfluous  on  the  one 
hand,  or  mischievous  on  the  other.  If  the  Censor  does 
not  occasionally  veto  a  play  he  proves  himself  to  be 
superfluous ;  so  the  time  comes  round  when  somebody 
has  got  to  be  held  up  as  a  warning.  This  is  an  obvious 
necessity ;  if  it  happens  less  than  once  or  twice  a  year 
the  office  will  soon  dwindle  out  of  existence. 

When,  however,  the  Censor  does  veto  a  play  it  must 
necessarily  fall  into  one  of  two  classes.  It  may  be  a 
play  that  a  persistent  demand  on  the  part  of  playgoers 
will  compel  him  to  licence  in  a  few  months  or  a  few 
years,  such  as  (Edipus  and  many  other  standard 
plays.  When  sooner  or  later  he  has  to  licence  such  a 
play  he  proves  himself  to  have  been  superfluous,  short- 
sighted, and  interfering  with  a  legitimate  demand  of 
the  managers  and  playgoers. 

If  a  play  does  not  fall  into  that  class,  it  must  fall 
into  the  class  of  plays  that  make  no  general  or  permanent 
appeal  to  playgoers,  and  that  would  naturally  soon 
disappear  because  of  their  neglect  or  disgust. 

What  happens  when  the  Censor  vetoes  such  a  play  ? 
Its  promoters  make  a  stir,  letters  are  written  in  all  the 
papers,  a  prurient  curiosity  is  aroused,  a  society  is 
formed,  the  play  is  produced  by  subscription,  and  the 
Censor's  action  causes  ten  times  as  many  people  to 
see  what  he  considers  to  be  an  objectionable  piece,  as 
would  have  visited  it  if  he  had  taken  no  action  at  all. 
In  this  case  he  proves  himself  to  have  been  mischievous. 
In  this  eternal  predicament  of  proving  himself  to   be 


AFTER  THE   CENSORSHIP  COMMITTEE    353 

either  superfluous  and  ridiculous,  or  mischievous  and 
ridiculous,  the  Censor  is  everlastingly  placed ;  while  he 
lives,  he  cannot  escape  from  it. 

The  plain  course  to  take  is  to  suppress  the  Censor- 
ship, and  to  prosecute  any  one  who  produces  an  indecent 
play  by  the  law  of  the  land,  in  the  same  way  that  all 
other  wrong-doers  are  prosecuted. 

In  place  of  this  common-sense  proceeding  all 
dramatists,  including  Sophocles,  Shelley,  Maeterlinck, 
Ibsen,  are  left  to  be  persecuted  by  the  caprices  of  an 
irresponsible  and  unaccountable  Censor.  And  perhaps 
it  is  necessary  to  reaffirm  that  those  who  oppose  the 
Censorship  do  not  take  that  ground  because  they  wish 
to  loosen  the  safeguards  of  public  morality  and  decency, 
but  because  they  wish  those  safeguards  to  be  upheld  by 
a  law  that  is  reasonable  and  intelligible,  and  that  can  be 
enforced  against  offenders.  I  have  not  read  the  play 
in  question ;  I  have  no  knowledge  of  it.  It  may  be  a 
masterpiece,  or  it  may  deserve  prosecution  by  the  law 
of  the  land.  But  it  has  already  been  performed  in 
public  and  has  received  commendation  from  responsible 
critics  in  high-class  journals.  Let  us  return  to  the 
general  question. 

Having  shown  the  eternal  predicament  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  office  in  respect  both  of  the  present  play 
and  of  every  play  that  is  submitted  for  licence,  let  us, 
in  the  light  of  the  facts  I  have  brought  forward,  ask 
what  seems  to  be  the  present  policy  of  the  Censorship 
and  the  Advisory  Committee.  Apparently,  in  order  to 
prevent  any  further  inquiry  into  the  present  working 
of  the  office,  it  intends  to  shun  all  responsibility,  to 
preserve  an  inaccessible  attitude,  and  if  possible,  to 
induce  the  manager  to  refuse  the  piece,  so  that  the 
onus  may  be  placed  upon  him.  And  the  power  the 
Lord  Chamberlain  has  of  withdrawing  the  licence  from 
the  theatre,  renders  it  likely  that  the  manager  in 
view  of  his  own  interests,  will  be  subservient.  But 
if  the   manager  of  a   theatre   is  to  be  forced  to  take 

2   A 


354    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

the  responsibility  of  rejecting  a  piece,  why  is  he  not 
to  be  allowed  to  exercise  his  unfettered  judgment  in 
the  first  place  without  the  interference  of  the  Censor? 
The  correspondence  in  the  present  instance  has  been 
placed  before  me.  Reading  it  carefully  it  is  impossible 
to  say  where  the  responsibility  for  refusal  is  to  be  fixed, 
under  which  thimble  the  pea  is  to  be  found.  The  letters 
give  the  impression  that  the  Censorship  in  wishing  to 
avoid  responsibility,  is  shifting  the  pea  about ;  now 
admitting  it  to  be  under  its  own  thimble ;  and  before 
one  can  be  sure  it  is  there,  slipping  it  under  the 
manager's  thimble;  and  then  before  one  can  seize  it, 
popping  it  under  the  thimble  of  the  Advisory  Com- 
mittee, who  apparently  have  been  called  in  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  shielding  the  office  in  its  indiscretions.  I 
say  that  the  correspondence  gives  that  impression ;  and 
also  that  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  the  pea  is  to 
be  boldly  placed  under  the  managerial  table.  If  I  am 
wrong  in  taking  this  view  of  the  matter  and  of  the 
present  policy  of  the  Censorship,  will  the  office  give 
some  other  explanation  of  the  circumstances  I  have 
related?  In  the  absence  of  such  an  explanation  it 
must  be  assumed  that  I  am  right.  At  the  moment  of 
writing  the  matter  stands  thus  : — 

A  play  has  been  submitted  and  the  reading  fee  has 
been  accepted,  and  for  some  two  months  the  author  has 
been  vainly  trying  to  learn  from  the  office  whether  or 
not  the  play  has  been  licensed.  Meantime  the  office 
pockets  the  guinea. 

Are  we  to  understand  that,  being  placed  in  an 
untenable  position,  the  Censorship  will  for  the  future 
evade  the  responsibility  and  throw  it  on  the  manager 
who,  however  much  he  may  wish  to  produce  the  play, 
is  naturally  disinclined  to  have  his  licence  taken  away, 
and  is  therefore  compelled  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
office  to  accept  the  responsibility,  and  to  announce  that 
he  has  withdrawn  the  play? 

Meantime     the     Censorship    has     seized     another 


AFTER  THE   CENSORSHIP  COMMITTEE    355 

opportunity  to  stultify  its  former  decisions,  and  to  offer 
another  startling  example  of  the  value  and  quality  of  its 
judgments.  It  has  licensed  CEdipits.  Sophocles,  after 
having  been  persistently  blackballed,  has  at  length  been 
thought  worthy  of  admission  to  companionship  with 
the  author  of  the  latest  musical  comedy  and  the  latest 
dirty  farce.  A  passing  shiver  must  have  ruffled  the 
serenity  of  that  august  shade  as  he  passed  into  the 
erratic  orbit  of  morality  whose  equilibrium  he  was  at 
length  permitted  to  disturb.  CEdipus  may  well  be  re- 
garded as  an  unfit  companion  in  circles  where  thieves 
and  forgers  and  swindlers  are  glorified  heroes,  and  are 
always  politely  shown  in  by  the  Censor.  It  will  be  said 
that  the  Censor  is  concerned  with  the  operation  on  the 
stage  of  the  seventh  commandment  only,  and  that  he 
has  no  concern  with  the  eighth.  Why  not?  Why 
should  a  distinction  be  made? 

It  is  a  significant  fact  that  the  verbal  corruption  of 
the  term  "morality"  in  English,  its  annexation  to  sexual 
matters  alone,  has  led  to  an  appalling  neglect  of  the 
plain  rules  of  morality  in  other  spheres  of  conduct.  It 
seems  that  a  tightening  of  sexual  morality  means  a 
loosening  of  all  other  kinds  of  morality.  It  must  be  a 
strange  order  of  mind  that  can  regard  CEdipus  as  likely 
to  work  an  evil  effect  and  therefore  to  be  banned ;  and 
at  the  same  time  can  regard  our  modern  glorified 
swindler  play  as  likely  to  be  harmless,  and  therefore 
to  be  licensed.  Yet  the  glorified  swindler  play  is  always 
allowed  an  easy  passport  to  our  theatres,  and  has  been 
in  recent  years  perhaps  our  most  successful  type  of 
play  both  in  England  and  America.  It  must  have 
wrought  immense  harm  amongst  boys  and  youths  about 
to  choose  a  profession  or  enter  commercial  life.  If  the 
Censor  is  supposed  to  veto  plays  by  measuring  the 
likelihood  of  their  evil  effects,  surely  our  glorified 
swindlers  should  have  come  under  his  ban.  Surely 
our  commercial  morality  stands  as  much  in  need  ol 
his   supervision  as  our  sexual  morality.     And   if  it  is 


356    FOUNDATIONS   OF  A  NATIONAL   DRAMA 

manifestly  absurd  to  appoint  a  Censor  to  overlook  our 
commercial  morality  on  the  stage,  is  it  not  as  manifestly 
absurd  to  appoint  a  Censor  to  overlook  our  sexual 
morality  ?  And  does  not  every  action  of  the  Censorship 
abundantly  prove  this  absurdity? 

However,  Sophocles  has  been  licensed.  Let  us  be  just 
to  the  Censor.  Let  us  v^^atch  the  result.  If  after  the 
production  of  (Edipus,  it  is  found  that  Englishmen  are 
developing  a  habit  of  marrying  their  mothers ;  even  if 
there  is  any  noticeable  tendency  that  way,  then  the 
Censorship  must  be  held  to  have  justified  itself,  and  in 
this  instance  to  have  shown  a  sagacity  and  foresight 
which  none  of  its  other  actions  would  lead  us  to  imagine 
it  possessed. 

Some  concessions  have  lately  been  made  to  the 
demand  of  the  Music  Halls  for  the  legalization  of 
their  performances  of  plays.  The  result  is  that  we  see 
Othello  and  Hamlet  on  the  bills  of  the  minor  music  halls. 
Why  not  remove  the  remaining  senseless  restrictions? 

However,  the  line  of  demarcation  between  theatres 
and  music  halls  has  been  broken  down,  never  again  to 
be  set  up.  The  inevitable  consequence  is  that  they 
must  all  be  placed  under  one  responsible  authority. 
The  Censorship  is  making  claim  to  this  authority,  and 
to  jurisdiction  over  all  the  music  halls  and  theatres  in 
the  kingdom.  But  this  jurisdiction  could  only  be 
effective  if  the  Censor  were  daily  and  nightly  present 
at  every  performance.  For  it  must  be  remembered  that 
the  Censorship's  claim  to  existence  is  based  on  the 
hypothesis  that  the  public  cannot  be  trusted  to  judge 
for  themselves,  but  must  have  an  amusement  and 
morality  taster.  Now  the  entertainment  in  most  music 
halls  and  many  theatres  consists  largely  of  spontaneous 
and  impromptu  business,  gestures,  and  words  that 
cannot  be  submitted  in  writing  to  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain's office.  It  is  therefore  impossible  that  the  Censor- 
ship should  exercise  any  effective  control  over  music 
halls.      That   its   pretended   jurisdiction   is   a   farce   is 


AFTER  THE  CENSORSHIP    COMMITTEE    357 

proved  by  the  fact  that  a  recent  sketch  was  licensed 
by  the  Censor,  and  was  afterwards  found  to  lend  itself 
to  the  representation  of  public  men  and  to  criticism  of 
their  actions.  If  it  is  advisable  to  stop  such  representa- 
tions, this  clearly  shows  that  it  cannot  be  done  in  the 
Censor's  office  ;  but  must  be  left  to  some  such  inspec- 
tion of  theatres  and  music  halls  as  I  am  advocating. 

The  whole  business  is  at  present  in  a  welter  of 
uncertainty,  confusion  and  contradiction.  Without 
wishing  to  add  to  the  present  perplexities  of  the 
Government,  English  dramatists  may  ask  with  growing 
impatience  when  the  recommendations  of  the  Censorship 
Committee  are  to  be  carried  into  effect  ?  It  is  pretty 
plain  that  the  irresponsible  Censor,  with  omnipotent 
powers,  will  have  to  go.  What  is  needed  is  a  unified 
authority,  responsible  to  the  Government.  I  venture 
again  to  suggest  the  appointment  of  an  Inspector- 
General  of  Theatres  and  Music  Halls  as  the  best  way 
of  meeting  the  very  great  difficulty,  distraction  and 
injustice  of  the  present  situation. 

In  the  "Censorship  Muddle"  I  have  outlined  the 
scope  and  duties  of  such  a  necessary  official.  It  would 
be  a  far  more  dignified,  authoritative,  and  secure  post 
than  that  of  the  present  Examiner  of  Plays  ;  called  upon 
as  he  is  to  reconcile  all  the  discordant  notions  and 
interests  of  authors,  managers,  playgoers  and  court 
circles.  If  such  an  inspector  is  appointed  no  better 
occupant  for  the  post  could  be  found  than  the  present 
Examiner  of  Plays. 

It  is  pleasant  to  recognize  that,  by  the  very  nature 
of  its  pretensions,  it  is  the  office  of  Censor,  rather  than 
its  tenant  for  the  time  being,  which  must  be  held 
responsible  for  the  injustices  and  absurdities  that  have 
been  committed.  As  in  the  case  of  my  late  friend  Mr. 
Pigott,  I  hope  I  may  be  allowed  to  disclaim  any  personal 
feeling,  except  that  of  sympathy  for  a  man  called  upon 
to  fill  so  thankless  and  unenviable  a  position.  When 
legislation  is  taken  in  hand  it  will  be  found  necessary  to 


358    FOUNDATIONS  OF  A  NATIONAL  DRAMA 

appoint  a  man  with  well-defined  powers  over  such 
matters,  and  over  such  matters  only,  as  can  be  settled  by 
a  responsible  decision  which  can  be  respected  and 
upheld.  The  intrinsic  morality  of  a  play  is  not  such  a 
matter,  and  therefore  the  Censorship  is  constantly 
ridiculed  and  defied,  and  its  judgments  revoked  and  set 
at  naught. 

Is  it  well  that  an  office  which  is  necessarily  pro- 
vocative of  continual  derision,  entanglement,  and 
squabbling  should  be  continued?  And  continued  under 
the  Lord  Chamberlain?  Does  not  a  farseeing  loyalty 
counsel  its  immediate  suppression  ?  Has  not  sufficient 
dignity  been  already  lost? 


PRINTED  EY 

WILLIAM  CLOWES  AND  SONS,    LIMITED 

LONDON  AND  BECCLES 


THE    MOST    REMARKABLE 
DIARIES  EVER  PUBLISHED. 


Tlje  Diaries  of 
William  Charles  Hacready. 

Edited  by  WILLIAM  TOYNBEE. 

In  Two   Volumes.  Small   Royal '8vo.  32s.  net. 

With  many  Portraits  and  other  Illustrations. 

THESE  Diaries  cover  the  most  eventful  period  of  the  great 
actor's  Ufe,  and  are  of  unique  interest,  as  not  only  revealing 
an  unusually  vivid  and  striking  personality  but  giving 
intimate  glimpses  of  several  of  his  most  famous  contemporaries. 
Dickens,  Thackeray,  Browning,  Bulwer,  Barry  Cornwall,  Forster, 
Talfourd,  Theodore  Hood,  Count  D'Orsay,  Lady  Blessington, 
Mrs.  Norton,  Helen  Faucit,  besides  nearly  every  actor  of 
eminence  are  presented — many  of  them  in  entirely  a  new  light — 
with  a  frankness  and  an  emphasis  that  are  altogether  exceptional. 
We  are  furnished,  in  fact,  with  a  series  of  first-hand  portraits,  alike 
invaluable  to  the  historian  and  fascinating  to  the  reader,  now 
traced  with  the  delicate  touch  of  a  Cowper  or  a  Charles  Lamb, 
now  with  the  impetuous  stroke  of  a  Swift  or  a  Churchill.  Further, 
we  are  admitted  into  some  of  the  most  distinguished  circles  of 
that  day,  and  are  enabled  to  form  a  clear  impression  of  Society 
as  it  then  existed  both  in  St.  James'  and  Bohemia  with  its 
cliques,  its  scandals,  and  its  causes  celebres,  not  forgetting  frequent 
peeps  into  the  vie  int'une  of  the  most  popular  of  clubs.  In  a  word, 
these  Diaries  may  fairly  claim  to  rank,  at  any  rate  from  a  social 
and  artistic  point  of  view,  as  the  most  important  of  the  Victorian 
era,  and  are  destined  greatly  to  enrich  the  chronicle  of  the 
"  great  London  world  "  during,  perhaps,  the  most  brilliant  epoch 
of  the  nineteenth  century. 

LONDON:  CHAPMAN  &  HALL,  Ltd. 


SOME    IMPORTANT    BOOKS 

FROM     MESSRS.     CHAPMAN    &    HALL'S 

SEVEN-AND-SIXPENNY    NET    LIBRARY 

OF     GENERAL     LITERATURE. 


PLAYMAKING:  A  Manual  of  Dramatic  Crafts- 

manship.     By  William  Archer. 

THE    SURGEON'S   LOG:    Being   Impressions 

of  the  Far  East.  By  J.  Johnston  Abraham.  Very 
fully  Illustrated.     Sixth  Edition. 

SUMMER  DAYS  IN  SHAKESPEARE  LAND. 

By  Charles  G.  Harper,  Author  of  "  The  Great  North 
Road,"  etc.,  etc.  Very  fully  Illustrated  from  Drawings  by 
the  Author  and  from  Photographs. 

MY  LIFE  AT  SEA:    Being  a  "Yarn''  loosely 

spun  for  the  purpose  of  holding  together  certain 
reminiscences  of  the  Transition  Period  from  sail  to 
steam  in  the  British  Mercantile  Marine  (1863-1894). 

By  Commander  W.  Caius  Crutchley,  R.N.R.,  F.R.G.S. 
(late  Secretary  of  the  Navy  League,  etc.).  With  a  Preface 
by  Earl  Brassey,  G.C.B.     Illustrated. 

FINLAND,    THE    LAND    OF    A    THOUSAND 

LAKES.  By  Ernest  Young,  Author  of  "The  Kingdom 
of  the  Yellow  Robe."     Very  fully  Illustrated. 

SPORT  IN  VANCOUVER  &  NEWFOUNDLAND. 

By  Sir  John  Rogers,  K.C.M.G.,  D.S.O.,  F.R.G.S.  Fully 
Illustrated  by  the  Author  and  from  Photographs. 

THE    ANNALS    OF    THE    STRAND.    By    E. 

Beresford  Chancellor,  Author  of  "  The  History  of  the 
Squares  of  London,"  etc.     Illustrated  from  Old  Prints. 

BV  THE  SAME   AUTHOR    AND   UNIFORM   WITH  THE   ABOVE. 

THE  ANNALS  OF  FLEET  STREET. 

THE   FRENCH   IDEAL.     By  Madame  Duclaux, 

Author  of  "The  Fields  of  France."     With  Portraits. 
LONDON:     CHAPMAN    &    HALL,    Ltd. 


Messrs.  CHAPMAN  &  HALL'S 

TWO     SHILLING      NET      LIBRARY      OF 

POPULAR     NOVELS. 

Works  by 

E.  TEMPLE  THURSTON 

Works  by 

MAJOR  W.  P.  DRURY 

The  Apple  of  Eden 
Traffic 

The     Peradventures     of 
Private  Pagett 

The  Evolution  of  Katherine 

Bearers  of  the  Burden 

Sally  Bishop  :  A  Romance 

Men  at  Arms 

Mirage 

The  City  of  Beautiful  Non- 
sense 

The  Greatest  Wish  in  the 

World 

The     Shadow      on     the 
Quarter  Deck 

The  Tadpole  of  an  Arch- 
angel and  Other  Stories 

The  Passing  of  the  Flag 
Ship 

Works  by 
ARNOLD  BENNETT 

Works  by 

Author  of"  The  Old  Wives'  Tales,"  etc. 

RIDGWELL  CULLUM 

Helen  with  the  High  Hand 

The  Glimpse  :    An  Adven- 
ture of  the  Soul 

The  Night  Riders 

The    Hound    from     the 
North 

By  W.  H.  MALLOCK 

Author  of  "The  Individualist,"  etc. 

The  Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole 

The     Watchers     of    the 
Plains 

A  Human  Document 

The  Trail  of  the  Axe 

LONDON:     CHAPMAN    &    HALL,    Ltd. 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Serie8  4939 


OJOTV, 


3  1158  01272  5270 


PN 

2594 
J71f 
cop.l 


UC  SnilTH!  fr.  RfGlOPjAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  412  212 


NTERS 


